The Broken Spear

Part 1

The mud was almost too deep to march through. It had been raining every day for almost an entire month, and it seemed foolish to Krunk that the great KhaKhan should want to conquer a place that had nothing better to offer than rocks, barren trees, scarce game and mud. Though he was soaked through to the bone and hungry, he plodded along with the rest of the thin column of orcs moving through the land the Boghul called “Tar-gar-thus”.

“Stop poking me!” growled a voice from behind. A swift kick to the backside sent Krunk sprawling forward face-down into the sticky mud. Before he could get back on his feet, he felt himself being pulled up by his hair. Soon he was staring into the narrow yellow eyes of a bull orc called Yaragath. The tusked tough was almost a third again larger than Krunk and carried a long crudely forged but sharp scimitar. Krunk had only his spear and had no shield to defend with. “I be more careful next time.”, Krunk apologized timidly. The brute expressed his acceptance of the apology by letting go of Krunk’s hair and shoving him backward into the mud again. Howls of laughter ensued from those around him, but Krunk swallowed his pride, got back on his feet and shouldered his spear, this time making sure the point of it came nowhere near anybody else, especially Yaragath.

A Matter Of Taste - a hill giant's tale

The last rays of a sinking sun reached across the evening sky like golden-red tethers, snapping loose one by one as the crescent moon ascended to steal the sun’s dominion. It was the sort of sunset that might be remembered in the epic songs of an elven bard if only one were there to witness its majesty.

He sat all by himself on the warm rocks on a small plateau overlooking the river below. He was waiting for his breakfast. The heat of the summer days made even the most basic tasks seem strenuous, and so he slept while the burning sun was overhead. Unfortunately, the days grew longer during the season and only prolonged his fasting.. He woke up hungry as usual. Before the days had grown so hot, he would venture down the long and winding path into the valley to seek more substantial meals such as the long-horned beasts that grazed in the tall grass along the riverbanks, but such delicacies had become rare of late. Besides, it was too hot to go wandering, even after the sun had gone.

A World Without War - Gurgh's story

It was the shouting that woke him, though they seemed unfamiliar and distorted. He opened his eyes and looked upward into the dense canopy of yellowing leaves which choked off all but a few rays of the late-afternoon sunlight. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of spilled blood, though it appeared the battle was now over and lost. The shouting continued but seemed to be far off and moving away further. He tried to sit up but his head throbbed, apparently from the same injury that had caused him to be laid flat on his back alone in the middle of the woods. He touched his brow expecting to find a bleeding gash across his forehead, but only found a large and tender lump. He tried to recall what happened after he and the others had been sent into the woods to suppress the mercenary crossbowmen.