Gorlek snorted, his fingers wrapped tightly around a coarse, yet feminine throat. He held tight, beads of sweat flung off his veiny arms and sparkled in the starlight, only to be shattered into a thousand more miniscule droplets by the desperate beating of the harpy’s wings.
The blasted creatures were a pain to deal with normally, but to kill one silently so close to their nest? Grekh, mad bastard…
After another minute, the pitiful last beats of the struggling creature petered out and it fell still in his grip. He softly laid it to rest back on its perch, before climbing into one of several dark, gaping holes stashed on the backside of the mountain. Inside, several more harpy corpses littered the ground.
“Grmph, took yer time.” A huge Uruk snorted at him, copious amounts of blood raining from each of its fingers, squeezed as it was from chunks of some kind of flesh. It only took another glance for Gorlek to note the flesh ripped from each of the other harpy’s throats.
A scene not too unfamiliar to the hobgoblin. Gorlek shuddered for a moment, but returned with a determined glare. “Lorekh wanted it done quiet, so I did it quiet. If he wanted fast, maybe he coulda left me with my artillery, keh?” The hobgoblin spat to the side, before silently drawing his cleaver. He smiled at it with a hint of sadness. Still has the shine from the lost kingdom…
The Uruk cast an understanding glance his way, barely notable through the slats in his heavy steel helmet. “The chief knows best.” That sound of defeat… it was something Gorlek hadn’t expected, particularly from him. For even the Bloodfist… we never stood a damn chance…
Gorlek was big, ever for a hobgoblin. This he knew since he first cleaved his way through the clan trials. Balstivek, too, was an anomaly amongst his kind. But Lorekh? There was a just a certain something… something about him that made Gorlek’s skin crawl.
He looked back out the cave, eyes and fingers twitching. He watched as Genoisia’s shadow finished covering the moon, and a deep darkness settled around them.
He took a deep breath, and then braced himself to face down the tunnel ahead. A moment later, a thunderous roar began to hammer and echo from the far side of the mountain. While he couldn’t see it, he knew the sound… his former artillery.
Galandels, similar in form to a trebuchet yet built with a magically reinforced rubber wire that would yank the launcher back as soon as its payload is launched. Additional slots for mana cores to amplify launch power, and the kicker… a special payload designed by that bastard; a special mix of obsidian, coal and magecite into a roped-together ball with an explosive core. He saw first hand as that horror weapon burned and shredded through his elite guard, launched from a stolen trebuchet no less!
Gorlek let loose a hideous laugh, as he mounted his steel shield onto his other arm. “Guess it’s finally the Harpies turn, bring it on Ya grekhan bastards!” He opened up with a wild-eyed grin, baring his sharpened fangs dripping with saliva. Balstivek roared fiercely, his voice echoing down the tunnel, yet soon drowned out by the mad drumbeat of hundreds of wings and talons scraping across the narrow walls.
The smoke came first, stinging at his eyes, before the furious wall of feathers and teeth descended upon them.
“Reinforcement! Amplify sound! Steelskin!” Gorlek screeched his spells quickly, as mana coursed its way through his body and shield. The moment he finished, the Uruk’s fish smashed into his shield, powered with nothing more than the beast’s innate mana. The sheer shock of the sound stunned the frontmost harpies, while sending the next rows stumbling back.
The two dash forward, the brutish mix of cleaver and fist annihilating the first wave of unfortunate birds. “AGAIN.” The Uruk bellowed, and Gorlek immediately repeated his chant.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
The harpies screeched in panic, flooding back to take another exit. However, there was no safe exit. They were only there to corral the harpies, and there were countless archers as backup for any of the exits that failed to hold. He felt the stone tremble underneath his feet, as a terrible cacophony rumbled nearby. That… must have been the final trap. Gorlek and Balstivek pressed deeper into the harpy tunnels, keeping low underneath the billowing smoke. They had one last job to do, and Gorlek couldn’t help but look with pity upon the unfortunate creatures.
----------------------------------------
“Hestiria Maidensong, former Matron of the Terinal clan?” The harpy shuddered under the cold, merciless glare from the Uruk towering before her.
“Yesss.” The creature belched out, almost as a mix between a groan and hiss, before breaking into a fit of coughing. Each cough caused her to almost choke, as her body strained against the cords wrapping around her neck and body.
The soot that shook off with each cough only made matters worse, but fortunately the Uruk before her waited patiently for her to finish. She kept her bloodshot eyes locked towards the ground, refusing to look towards the blackened mountainside that she used to call home.
“Why..?” She muttered, after an interminable silence broken only by her own gasps. The two that brought her here had both kept their distance, staring doggedly ahead. Only The Uruk’s gaze was relentless, watching her every move. As much as she tried, she could not find any way to escape. The ropes were too tight, her lungs too damaged, and her once pristine white feathers weighed down by earth and soot.
“It’s because I need your clan. Now, you serve me. Balstivek, take Gorlek, and bring her to the breaker.”
“Yes, Chief Khalthizar!” Gorlek and Balstivek bellowed, as Lorekh turned to leave. Each step of the titanic Uruk, clad in heavy black steel, caused the slightest of tremors through the earth.
“So, what’s this grekhan breaker? Why does she need to go there?” The hobgoblin asked, cocking an eyebrow towards the Uruk. A little bit of blood drained from the creatures face. Balstivek let loose another look of genuine pity at the unfortunate harpy before him.
“Hrek! Ye… surrendered. Smart, ye were. Smart…” He trailed off, before continuing. “She aint accepted yet. And the harpies follow their matron.”
Hestiria stared on in terror, and began coughing again as she screeched and struggled harder against her bonds. A futile struggle, as she was met with a grip tighter than iron that lifted her off the ground once again.
----------------------------------------
Lorekh circled a large table in an open-air tent, examining a surprisingly decent model of the Northsreach Mountains. Many of the models glistened lightly as a damp morning fog bank rolled through. It was a rare moment of relative quiet in the early dawn hours, as the goblins, nocturnal as they were, proceeded to stumble their way to their barracks as the orcs and other Uruks began to take on their own duties.
In particular, Lorekh focused on a rough design of a fortress deep within the heart of the Northsreach. It was placed neatly at the upper end of a canyon, surrounded on three sides by sheer mountains. A surprisingly strong river flowed out from the fortress, with no discernable source marked on the map.
He furrowed his brow, staring at the fortress from every angle as his lips quivered in frustration, a feeling that only grew as a small commotion began to make its way towards his command tent. A young orc, clad in dark brown and green leathers that looked very much like mossy rocks, came rushing up to his tent, shouting “Big news for the chief, Yeeee, big news for the chief! The humans, the humans, the humans are at war!”
Lorekh perked up, his green iris darting from the excitable shoat to the two large Uruk’s that promptly blocked his path.
The young orc quickly cowered, as Lorekh’s heavy steps approached. “With who, little orc?” The Uruk’s voice was sonorous and deep, and yet was soft enough that the orc began to relax. “Yeee, Chief Khalthizar! They are at war with each other! We… we don’t have to fight them now?” The orc squealed, a hopeful glint shone in the creature’s eyes as it looked up at Lorekh.
A crowd had begun to gather and chatter, as a sense of excitement began to grow. A sense the Lorekh immediately quashed. “No. Nothing changes. We march for Krenedor.” Lorekh never needed to shout, his natural voice was strong enough to carry through the crowd.
“Now, little Orc, I have a job for you. Go to the Breaker, and find out how many more days he needs.” The chieftain’s voice was steady, but his deepening frown and furious eye sent the young orc cowering again, as he squealed in affirmation and rushed off again.
The other Uruk’s relaxed as the child left, and Lorekh returned to his terrain model. He sighed out of earshot from his minions, muttering softly to himself. “We’re taking too long, they will start moving soon…” Lorekh instinctively touched the black steel eyepatch that was forcefully jammed into his left eye socket, and grimaced further.
“Dammit, Brekken! Cowardly goblin bastard!” With a shout and a snarl, the Uruk unsheathed a large, heavy blade and cleaved clean through the model fortress, with table and all.