Almost climaxing... yea, right there... just like that...
Dawn crept slowly over the forest casting long shadows, making its journey across to the rolling foothills that led to the Sundered Peaks. Cresting one such hill, the fiery light of the rising sun washed over the still camp of orcs. Nested in a large depression, the orcs had circled their wagons preparing for the worst, thinking that at any moment death may swoop down upon them and take them while they slept away through the garish daylight hours.
Durigal looked out from one of the wagons, squinting despite the cover of shade she sat in. She looked over the camp taking note of the many small pup tents, just large enough for an orc, set up about the camp, nothing but the sleeping orc's boots visible sticking out the end. She glanced at the other wagons. Most held the plunder from their most recent raids on elven villages, some were supply wagons, and this day she used one as her quarters. Her tent was erected in the middle of the camp, not too distant from her son's large tent.
The orc woman didn't usually take watch, but she sensed that there would be an attack this morning. The wretched elf that hunted her tribe would want to take advantage of daylight hours when her kin would be hampered by the bright day. The morning saw no clouds in the sky, nothing to block the sun's infernal rays from reaching camp. How she longed for the deep caves of the mountains. With what they had taken from the elves, the orc party could get any supplies they needed from the other tribes laired in those peaks and it would be a long time before they would need to come out and conduct another campaign.
There had been another four orcs killed mere hours ago. They had been sent out in search of the elf that had already killed a dozen of her kin. He had become an unshakeable thorn in her side and was costing them too much. Grullashk needed orcs to conduct his raids, to provide him with the wealth that would garner him more power. She couldn't allow a lowly elf to bring an end to that, to halt her son's rise to greatness before it had really begun. No, he would die this day.
She fished out the black orb from her pocket, gazing into its dark depths. She had happened upon it by chance, hidden in the cave that now served as their lair when they weren't outside the mountain range. She had some talent with spirit magic, passed down from her grandmother, and had found out that the dark sphere was a powerful item designed specifically to take the advantage away from the elves in combat. She hoped that it would function more than once, but knew that it had at least enough power left in it to aid her this day. Looking into it was like looking into a cloudy night sky, a few twinkles of light sparkling as she turned it in her hand. Its magic was tangible, radiating out from it as she looked into it.
She looked up from the orb when she thought she heard something. There was a lone orc on watch, all they could spare, who stood atop the wagon directly across from her, several yards away. He must have heard it too because he alert and putting an arrow to his bowstring, squinting in the orange light and scanning the surrounding hills. He turned toward her, looking over her wagon at the road beyond, unable to glimpse what had made the sound. His eyes widened when a red shafted arrow erupted from his throat.
The orc dropped to his knees, a wet gurgling the only sound escaping his lips. Before he could fall forward and tumble off of the wagon onto the tent below, a lithe form leapt onto the wagon and grabbed the collar of the orc's leather armor and laid him gently on the roof. Durigal saw that the elf, a female, had no bow on her person. There was more than one elf attacking them in the early morning light. Unexpected, but the orc did not worry. It wouldn't matter if a whole hunting party had come out for them, they would all die at the end of an orcish sword.
Another elf, this one a male, hopped up beside the first. He had a cloak with the hood pulled over his face that woven through with the grass of the surrounding hills, allowing him to blend in with the landscape. He had a bow in his left hand and a quiver of red shafted arrows at his waist. On the other hip rested a longsword in its sheath, but he wore no armor she could see. They spoke quietly to each other glancing at the larger tent in the middle of the camp. With a sharp nod they slipped off the side of the wagon and began to weave their way between the smaller tents, keeping wary of those who inside, obviously wanting to slice the head off the snake before dealing with the rest.
Durigal could hardly contain her excitement. It was all happening exactly as she had envisioned it. Elves could be so predictable. They so often underestimated the cunning of her kin. It would be their ultimate undoing. She watched as the pair found their way to her son's tent. The female, two daggers drawn, made two quick cuts in the backside of the tent while her companion silently drew his sword, shouldering his bow. The two of them dashed into the tent.
For a few tense moments there was nothing, no sound, no movement. She waited, her breath held in her chest in barely contained anticipation, for some sign that her ruse had worked. She was rewarded when, with a roar of fury, the tent lurched to the side coming free of its pegs, the brute inside the tent having thrown the male elf into the tent wall.
Durigal almost squeaked in glee, but remembered her role in what was sure to be a triumphant victory. She gazed once more into the cloudy black depths of the orb and began to chant the words that the spirits had taught her. Her voice raised in pitch as she came to the final incantation, she was lost in the power of the sphere, she could feel it taking over, speaking the words through her.
Then the world was plunged into darkness.
Durigal looked out from one of the wagons, squinting despite the cover of shade she sat in. She looked over the camp taking note of the many small pup tents, just large enough for an orc, set up about the camp, nothing but the sleeping orc's boots visible sticking out the end. She glanced at the other wagons. Most held the plunder from their most recent raids on elven villages, some were supply wagons, and this day she used one as her quarters. Her tent was erected in the middle of the camp, not too distant from her son's large tent.
The orc woman didn't usually take watch, but she sensed that there would be an attack this morning. The wretched elf that hunted her tribe would want to take advantage of daylight hours when her kin would be hampered by the bright day. The morning saw no clouds in the sky, nothing to block the sun's infernal rays from reaching camp. How she longed for the deep caves of the mountains. With what they had taken from the elves, the orc party could get any supplies they needed from the other tribes laired in those peaks and it would be a long time before they would need to come out and conduct another campaign.
There had been another four orcs killed mere hours ago. They had been sent out in search of the elf that had already killed a dozen of her kin. He had become an unshakeable thorn in her side and was costing them too much. Grullashk needed orcs to conduct his raids, to provide him with the wealth that would garner him more power. She couldn't allow a lowly elf to bring an end to that, to halt her son's rise to greatness before it had really begun. No, he would die this day.
She fished out the black orb from her pocket, gazing into its dark depths. She had happened upon it by chance, hidden in the cave that now served as their lair when they weren't outside the mountain range. She had some talent with spirit magic, passed down from her grandmother, and had found out that the dark sphere was a powerful item designed specifically to take the advantage away from the elves in combat. She hoped that it would function more than once, but knew that it had at least enough power left in it to aid her this day. Looking into it was like looking into a cloudy night sky, a few twinkles of light sparkling as she turned it in her hand. Its magic was tangible, radiating out from it as she looked into it.
She looked up from the orb when she thought she heard something. There was a lone orc on watch, all they could spare, who stood atop the wagon directly across from her, several yards away. He must have heard it too because he alert and putting an arrow to his bowstring, squinting in the orange light and scanning the surrounding hills. He turned toward her, looking over her wagon at the road beyond, unable to glimpse what had made the sound. His eyes widened when a red shafted arrow erupted from his throat.
The orc dropped to his knees, a wet gurgling the only sound escaping his lips. Before he could fall forward and tumble off of the wagon onto the tent below, a lithe form leapt onto the wagon and grabbed the collar of the orc's leather armor and laid him gently on the roof. Durigal saw that the elf, a female, had no bow on her person. There was more than one elf attacking them in the early morning light. Unexpected, but the orc did not worry. It wouldn't matter if a whole hunting party had come out for them, they would all die at the end of an orcish sword.
Another elf, this one a male, hopped up beside the first. He had a cloak with the hood pulled over his face that woven through with the grass of the surrounding hills, allowing him to blend in with the landscape. He had a bow in his left hand and a quiver of red shafted arrows at his waist. On the other hip rested a longsword in its sheath, but he wore no armor she could see. They spoke quietly to each other glancing at the larger tent in the middle of the camp. With a sharp nod they slipped off the side of the wagon and began to weave their way between the smaller tents, keeping wary of those who inside, obviously wanting to slice the head off the snake before dealing with the rest.
Durigal could hardly contain her excitement. It was all happening exactly as she had envisioned it. Elves could be so predictable. They so often underestimated the cunning of her kin. It would be their ultimate undoing. She watched as the pair found their way to her son's tent. The female, two daggers drawn, made two quick cuts in the backside of the tent while her companion silently drew his sword, shouldering his bow. The two of them dashed into the tent.
For a few tense moments there was nothing, no sound, no movement. She waited, her breath held in her chest in barely contained anticipation, for some sign that her ruse had worked. She was rewarded when, with a roar of fury, the tent lurched to the side coming free of its pegs, the brute inside the tent having thrown the male elf into the tent wall.
Durigal almost squeaked in glee, but remembered her role in what was sure to be a triumphant victory. She gazed once more into the cloudy black depths of the orb and began to chant the words that the spirits had taught her. Her voice raised in pitch as she came to the final incantation, she was lost in the power of the sphere, she could feel it taking over, speaking the words through her.
Then the world was plunged into darkness.