“Retreat to the second line!” with the flag bearer carrying out the order, infantry started an organized retreat in moments, retreating 10 meters to the back. As the dwarves retreated, the fervent charge mowed down the remaining few slaves. The orc archers and beasts stopping their assault. As the beast rider tide was almost upon them, Balor launched his hidden card, “Activate the trap, pikemen to the front!” as soon as the order was relayed, the dwarven captains cut the ropes hidden in the ground, activating the contraption, the ground collapsing under the first of the riders, revealing a 5 meter deep and wide trench covered in sharpened spikes. Unable to stop their charge, hundreds or riders fell to their deaths while dwarves used the opportunity to position their pikemen in front, the 3 meter long pikes being firmly braced against the ground. And then the carnage began, while most of the riders who made it across the chasm had themselves or their beasts impaled on the pikes, those who made their way through caused devastating damage, beast and rider alike attacking in unison. While the Advanced Masters and Masters took down the most threatening riders, Balor saw the giant and the remaining trolls charge to join the carnage.
“Borir, you are to take over command, I am going for the giant. Please ask Honorable Airon Hamarraugh to engage with the Warlord!” Airon the Hammer of Death, a warrior from Gimheim known for his brutality and the strongest of the remaining Advanced Masters.
“But,...” eager to join the battle himself, Borir started to protest. “That’s an order!” said Balor with fake anger. “Alright, Boss!” replied the goofy dwarf, instantly turning serious as he saw the sharp look on his saman’s face.
Running ahead with incredible speed, he suddenly gathered rikzalv in his legs, the earth shattering under him as he leaped over the dwarven infantry. His meteoric fall crushed an orc rider to meat paste, and then he started throwing his axe, the weapon returning to him after reaching maximum range like a boomerang. As he quickly approached the giant, dozens of riders fell around him with each throw of his axe. The first beasts he met in battle were trolls, the monstrous creatures of immense strength falling under his axe almost as easily as the riders. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Airon running straight for the warlord, his hammer crushing armour and bones alike. The first real challenge he faced was a 4 meter tall troll lord, the savage swinging his club in an attempt to turn Balor into mush. Dodging to the side, he unsuccessfully tried to sever the troll’s arm, his axe failing to cut through the rikzalv strengthened bone. Sensing real danger, the beast became even more ferocious, using a troll’s innate endurance and rikzalv strengthened body to put Balor on the defense. The onslaught bore little success, as the dwarf dodged most of the blows with sublime footwork, deflecting the others with his shield and then returning attacks of his own. After the fifth strike, the troll’s arm was finally cut through, the beast flailing in agony at his lost limb. Using the beast’s distraction, Balor moved behind it, severing it’s spine with a clean slash. Even though tens of blows were exchanged, the confrontation lasted only a mere few moments.
Continuing his advance, and after a few more cut down trolls, Balor was finally facing the behemoth. The giant eyed the warrior varrily, his primal instincts sounding alarm bells of imminent danger, a strange feeling the innately powerful giant had rarely felt in his existence.
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At the same time on the other side of the battlefield.
Sitting on a black maned horse, which in itself was unusual for orcs who usually preferred monstrous steeds, was a slim figure, his sleek and defined musculature exposed in the areas armor didn't cover. Seems like the rumours about the dwarven dornar could be true. He had been wary of an ambush from the start of the battle, saving his elites in case of an emergency. While he was an orc, his figure didn't fit that of one in the slightest, thin where he should be broad, short where he should be tall, but that seemed not to affect his authority the least bit, as the orcs around him stood quietly, afraid to insult their goth in any way. Goth meaning chief. His name was Darkgor, the goth of the Glugrot tribe. He’d been born in the Chaotic Wastes to the south, a vast plain of grassland, with small nomadic tribes of orcs living around the few water streams. His tribe, first starting off as a small gang, had been wandering the Wastes for decades, incorporating the other groups and destroying those that wouldn't surrender.
It all started 6 full moon ago.
With nothing left to conquer in the Wastes, and with talks of abundant lands to the north, he’d ordered his tribe to start preparing as many supplies as they could gather. While his tribesorcs foraged far and wide to complete his orders, he called for Azgut and Grotzag - his strongest commanders and closest aides. Some time later, a tall orc of bronze skin, almost every centimeter of it covered in deep and shallow scars alike, entered the tent as his waist long braided hair swayed under the momentum of his stride - Azgut. Closely behind trailed another tall one, but this one far more reserved, his skin covered by a long robe. Only his sharp eyes gleamed under his hood - Grotzag.
“Give the order, great goth!” Azgut shouted, looking him straight in the eye, an expectant grin on his face, Grotzag, on the other hand, remained silent. “Travel north, find kuz that understand our language and bring the wise ones back to me. Don’t cause needless destruction.” He ordered, looking at Grotzag. While less enthusiastic than Azgut, Grotzag completed his orders to the letter, unlike the brute who'd forget most of it by the time he left the tent. The hooded orc, and the only shaman in his tribe, accepted his order with a simple nod, leaving the tent silent as the wind. Kuz meaning slave, was the way they addressed all the northerners.
“I will put my life on the line to fulfill your order, great goth!” said the oblivious brute with a silly grin, running out of the tent as soon as he’d received the order. It was unwise to send either one of them alone, so he’d made the decision to send them together, being unable to go by himself. He had met kuz from the north before, the strange savages venturing to his doorsteps alone or in small groups. As a young and bloodthirsty goth back then, preoccupied mainly with dominance over the other tribes in the Wastes, and failing to understand their strange language, he’d fed the kuz to his warriors. The soft kuz meat was a delicacy for the orcs, hungry as they were in the plains that had no food source big enough to feed his growing tribe. He now knew he’d been rash back then, he should have enslaved them instead, learning from them their language and listening to their stories about the northern lands. Know thy enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles, you will never be defeated. He remembered a saying by one of their wise elders. The elders were warriors too old to fight, they now spent their time teaching the young and advising him in his affairs. And so a few full moons passed, his tribe preparing for the long march while he trained with his warriors, waiting for the 2 commanders to return.
As he was starting to think that they met with some unexpected misfortune, there was finally some news of the duo's return. Sending word through an eagle, Grotzag informed him that they would reach the tribe by the 10th sundown. And exactly as the shaman said, by the 10th sundown, he received news from his scouts about their arrival. A few hours later, the two commanders entered his tent, what surprised him the most were their downcast expressions. He didn’t have to wait long to find out why. Only a single sorry figure entered after his aides, an imp half as tall as the other kuz he’d met, he dragged his feet as if he’d just survived a flood. His brown hair matted in an ugly mess, facial hair not in a much better state. The goth still thought that there was something strange about this kuz, something profound he still failed to pinpoint.
“Sorry Boss, we only managed to find this midget.” even Azgut seemed apologetic, his eyes wandering around the tent, as if searching for a place to hide. “He was the only one who could understand our language.” said Grotzag matter of factly, but Darkgor still caught a hint of shame in his expression. Accepting things as they were, he thanked his commanders for their effort, his gratitude only intensifying their shame, and addressed the imp “Come forward, I am Darkgor, may I know where you come from and what you call yourself.”
The half kuz came forward and kneeled in front of the goth, a gesture of submissiveness, one he’d often used to humiliate defeated opponents, and then spoke with a thick accent, but still coherently “This humble one is called Agon, I am of the dwarven race. We dwarves are beings of generally small stature. I come from the mountains to ..”, seeing the confusion on Darkgor’s face, the kuz kindly provided an explanation, “A mountain is a large pile of stone, reaching up to the sky.” Even though the goth was sceptical about the so-called mountains, he gestured the kuz to continue.
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“As I said, I come from the mountains to the north, from a small dwarven tribe.”
Feeling curious, he asked, “How do you speak our language?”.
And received an unexpected answer, “Great goth, you are not the first tribe this humble one has come across, tales of your conquest have spread far and wide.. “ after a brief pause he said, “for those who knew how to listen.”
While it wasn't ideal, he still liked the idea of his fame being spread, the corners of his lips raising slightly as a result.
“Many of the orc tribes that ran away from your great conquest stumbled upon my small tribe, while their warriors were unable to break our defenses,“ the goth glanced towards Grotzag to confirm the validity of those words, the shaman only nodding slightly in response, “I was still able to bribe some of them to teach me a thing or two.”
I have been a frog in the well far too long. “You are to rest for today, and starting tomorrow you are to provide lessons for me each day at sunup, I shall reward you handsomely for your efforts. Grotzag, provide our …” glancing at the kuz, he remembered how he’d addressed himself, “dwarf with a tent, new clothes and something to eat.”
“Your wish is my command, honorable goth!” the dwarf kneeled again, and then slowly exited the tent, while Grotzag slightly nodded and followed after. The next few full moons were quite enjoyable for the goth, while the preparations continued, he spent his time with the dwarf, learning his language and everything else the tiny creature knew about the lands to the north. And then came the time to move out, with all his tribesorcs gathered they numbered at least 80,000, half of which were battle hardened warriors.
As his tribe moved on high alert, drilled to always remain vigilant in the unforgiving plains, he rode with his trusted aides and the dwarf to scout ahead and was consequently greatly surprised by the tall mountains and wide rivers they’d started to come across, the dwarfs' words seemed to be true. Out of respect for everything he had been taught, they circumvented the dwarfs' tribe and headed straight for the next one he was told about. And so when they came upon the first mountain tribe, he’d ordered his warriors to capture the inhabitants alive. The tribe was poorly defended, with a barely 2 meter high wooden palisade surrounding it and a few inexperienced looking warriors defending the gate. This tribe contained kuz of normal height, like the ones he’d met before in the Wastes, the dwarf called them humans. As the tribe's alarm bell rang, his loyal warriors descended upon the town, while his subjugated trolls roared in dissatisfaction, denied the feast they had been expecting. He was reluctant to unleash the unruly beasts he’d just recently subjugated, with their warlord willful as ever, they still ignored his orders more often than not. His younger self would have slaughtered them in a fit of anger, but he now looked to find a better purpose for the beasts. The giants on the other hand were extremely loyal, probably due to the fear he’d instilled into them after he’d slaughtered most of their adults, with only a dim witted one left to lead the dozen females, young and elderly. Even loyal as he was, Fud - the name he’d given the giant, would still cause more harm than good in this mission.
A short while later, his warriors hauled the loot and the kuz through the gate, not all of them judging by the bloodied weapons. Azgut walked in front with what seemed like the kuz leader slung over his shoulder. The elderly human seemed terrified of the brute, shaking in fear while he was being carried and then propped up in front of the goth. Darkgor then asked him in what the kuz called Eolkic - the common language, “Are you the leader of this village?” although his Eolkic was still broken, the human seemed to understand him. Still trembling, the human slowly lifted his eyes and gave a reply, “I am, why did you invade our peaceful village?”
With a cruel laugh, he only said, “No need for you to know, if you cooperate I will keep you and your people alive. Bring them away!”. As the warriors scrambled to complete his command, herding the kuz like animals and bringing them away, he called out for the dwarf, “Dwarf, go and talk to them, find out any useful information.”
Coming out from among his commanders, with those unable to understand why a lowly kuz stood with them throwing him hateful looks, the dwarf, not seeming to mind, said while he made an exaggerated bow, “As you command, great goth!” and then hurried away. He would later join the dwarf in the interrogation, for one to practice his Eolkic, and secondly to see if the dwarf would hide some information.
In the coming days they would repeat the same pattern, not proving to be a match for his warriors, many small tribes were looted, their inhabitants enslaved, as the orcs moved further north. His kuz population now grew almost as big as his tribe, making them more unruly and harder to control. In response, he severely punished even the smallest of transgressions, usually by feeding the youngest of their kin to the most savage of his warriors. Such extreme measures seemed to quiet them, but he could see the swelling hatred in their eyes, the herd would need to be culled. And the opportunity came sooner than he’d expected. As they gathered information from the tribes they conquered, an interesting rumour seemed to be spreading. One of the dwarven kingdoms was mentioned in the rumour. Talking nonchalantly about his own kin, the dwarf described it as a powerful and wealthy tribe. Upon unleashing some ancient beast they supposedly had their army annihilated, their dornar, similar to a goth, gravely injured. Under the lure of wealth and fame, and eager to ascertain if the rumour had any substance to it, Darkgor led a 30,000 strong army, along with 20,000 of the most unruly kuz to the dwarven fortress.
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Present
Observing Fud as he sluggishly did his best to survive against the dwarf in shiny armour, numerous cuts already accumulating on his enormous body, he made a decision, “Azgut, go and engage that shiny dwarf, and send Fud back.” He didn't mind sacrficing some of his weaker warriors to force the dwarfs to deploy their powerhouses and reveal their trump cards, but he'd rather not lose any of his valuable assets if he had any choice.
The giant orc ran off as soon as he heard his name called, sensing a strong opponent, his battle spirit was burning since a while ago. Approaching his opponent with an incredible burst of speed, even having to dodge a javelin from the strange dwarven machine, Azgut lifted his axe in the air, preparing a strong blow. Sensing the incoming danger, the dwarf also turned his attention to the commander, preparing a powerful blow of his own. Clash! The sky rumbled, while the earth trembled from their first collision, a powerful shockwave was sent from the point of impact, pushing everyone around it a few steps back.