Savages: Brood of Evil (sample)

Savages:
Brood of Evil


Prologue

“I’m not really sure what happened. I-I mean one minute everything was calm, the night was still, and then the next everything was utter chaos. Explosions shook the camp and I saw men and heard men screaming both in pain and in fright and confusion, silhouetted against a backdrop of flames where our camp had once stood. There was no enemy to be seen, I-I was so afraid, I ran to find whatever shelter I could, as I ran I saw a figure who did not belong. I did not see its face, if it even had one, for it was wrapped in a cloak and beneath its hood I saw bandages, not skin nor any mortal features. This Figure fought alone, with no companions to help it, not that it needed it. I watched in horror as it felled one man, two, then three, a massive twisting blade in one hand and a hatchet in the other that was ablaze in hellish fire, both a blur of motion as it slaughtered and I realized that this could not be a man, but instead could only be a faceless demon. I-I found shelter underneath a felled tree and cowered, praying that the faceless demon would not find me. By dawn it was all over and I was the only survivor. I timidly scurried out from under the tree, looking for any sign of the demon and hoping it had left without noticing me. I heard a noise from behind me and turned in horror to find the Demon sitting on the tree under which I had been hiding, in fact right above the spot I was hiding under. Its massive serpentine blade resting on his lap, a wolf of silver black fur patiently lying on its four paws right beside him. I backed away in silent terror, unable to scream for help but knowing that even if I could none would answer. My terror furthered as he got up from the tree and walked slowly after me, matching my pace. I tripped and fell on my rear and thought it was the end for me. Sweat rolled down my face in waves and tears came unbidden to my eyes, and I was unable to hold them back. For what reason, to this day I do not know, but without a word, the faceless demon simply turned and walked away into the rising sun, his wolf companion silently following behind him.”
Rhath Therda- bandit of the black skull raiders gang, recalling the Massacre at Camp Bos’qar 


In all the vastness that was Telmar, there was no more a conflicted region than that of the coasts of Termalane. Set in the Southwestern corner of the world, Termalane was truly a wild land, and the force of mortals had yet to venture very deep into its mysterious wilderness, daring only to settle on the coastlines where it appear safe, save for a few attacks and disappearances every now and then. However, what would appear to be a peaceful existence was actually more a chaotic battlefield, where one colony in an effort to expand would encounter another and would be forced to do battle to exert its dominance, sometimes winning and absorbing the defeated foe into its own territory, sometimes losing and being absorbed itself. Sometimes though, in particular when the two opposing parties where of a different species, one would be completely raised and annihilated, the inhabitants slaughtered or left to die in the wilds, leaving no trace of what once could be called a city. All this fighting, however, made this a mercenary’s goldmine, and work was rich and prosperous.
         On the Gulgari Coast of southern Termalane, a human city, one of the many in that region had encroached upon the territory of a tribe of Orcs, and a particularly nasty one at that. These Orcs, though generally thought of as stupid by most humans had some sort of new weapon that ravaged the humans piss poor excuse of an army and the local Baron, having spent most of the city’s wealth on that piss poor excuse for an army, was in a rather tenuous position. Not having enough riches left to hire a mercenary party of sufficient size to deal with the Orcs, the Baron was desperate. So when a Mysterious Cloaked Figure approached the Baron in the dead of night, from his raised balcony no less, and offered to deal with the Orcs for a decently small fee and the promise that the Baron and his men would in no way interfere, the Baron was elated, if not a little skeptical. The Cloaked Figure took half his fee up front and headed off into the night with his promise to return for the other half of his fee by daybreak the following day.

         Human in appearance, Orc’s were the descendents of Elves, who thousands of years ago, we’re altered by the wild magics released during the Movement. Stronger than Elves, though shorter lived, they shared the elves commonly pointed nears, but there the resemblances ended. With coarse hair, thick leathery skin, varying in color from browns, greens, blacks, even reds, tans or yellows in some places, they were very resistant to disease and elemental forces like heat and cold. A very hearty species, Orcs can often be found scraping a living off the bare land where other races would have long ago given up and moved on. Orcs were very clannish, and often would war with each other. They were aggressive to an extreme, though they were also intelligent, much to the contrary of what you’d hear other species tell of them. Also to the contrary, not all Orcs liked to kill and feast on human flesh, some even lived in cities in the northern continent of Uthradt. The more vicious tribes would have different characteristics, such as tusks either on the upper or lower jaw, broader foreheads and eyebrows. But the most telling thing about an Orc, or a person with Orc blood, is in the eyes. All Orcs have cat-like eyes in varied colors, allowing them to see in low light better than any race, save for the dwarves. It was a dominant trait, and humans with Orc blood from hundreds of years past have been known to have Orc-eyes. Orcs often would often marry trolls, and treat local trolls as members of the clan.
         The Gulgari Orc tribe was no exception to any of these rules. In the encampment that was their home, Trolls dotted the encampment, hefting stones and logs and the like and moving them from one place to another. The Orcs, the skin on these ones a bright red hue, were not quite up to the hard physical labor, and were content to direct the trolls on what to do. Whether or not the Trolls were also content with this, or were just too stupid to understand the lot given to them in life, was anybody’s guess.
         The Cloaked Figure hid in the underbrush just outside the encampment. He had been observing the Orcs since daybreak and now the sun was beginning to set once more, further concealing his position in darkness. The encampment was made of huts, all of varying sizes. Constructed from an assortment of woods and animal hides used to form makeshift roofs, the huts looked very sturdy, a requirement to handle the unpredictable and extreme weather shifts one often finds near the coasts. The encampment itself was set in a wide lush valley, rich in plant and animal life, in the western mountains. Overlooking the valley, set in the mountainside, he could see a cave. The Cloaked Figure could not be sure, but judging from the well worn trail leading up to the cave, as well as the frequency of which the Orcs ventured there, and the two Orcs in full armor carrying wicked looking serrated blades that he could only guess were supposed to be guards, that the cave was where the Orcs were hiding this new weapon he had heard so many rumors about.
         There was a subtle shift in the grass, but the Cloaked Figure did not even flinch as the creature responsible, a wolf of gray and white fur, settled down beside him. Having caught the scent of the wolf, a specific scent the Cloaked Figure could recognize since his early childhood, he was not startled in the least at the animal’s approach. He reached out absentmindedly and scratched the creature behind his furry ears and the wolf let out a soft moan and began to pant in approval.
         “Easy.” The cloaked figure whispered to the wolf. “We don’t want to give ourselves away just yet.”
         He turned back toward the encampment, just in time to catch another group of Orcs, mostly Shamans from the look of their robes and head-dresses, made their way up the trail to the two guards and after stopping to converse a little, more likely the shamans harassing the guards for obstructing their path, the two guards cleared out of the way and the shamans disappeared inside.
         If the Cloaked Figure wanted to complete his mission then he needed to get inside that cave. How to go about doing that without alerting the guards and being detected, however, would not be an easy task. But, as fate would have it, he was already starting to see the formations of a plan. It was risky, but it might be just crazy enough to work. And what fun was life without the risk of death, dismemberment, or excruciating torture anyway?
         The Cloaked Figure silently chuckled to himself as he quietly backed away from his position, the wolf obediently doing the same. There was much work to be done. And a limited time to do it in before the sun set completely and darkness engulfed the valley and turned twilight into full night. He allowed himself another chuckle. This was going to be an interesting night, most interesting indeed.

         The sun had completely retreated behind the mountains by the time the Cloaked Figure had finished his preparations and the last traces of daylight were beginning to fade. He figured he had thirty to forty-five minutes before the sky was completely dark, but time no longer worried him. His preparations had fortunately taken much less time than he feared they would and he was nearly ready to put his plan into action. He sat in one of the huts he had seen from his hiding place just outside the encampment. Before him lay the freshly laid corpse of one of the Orc Shamans that hadn’t made their way to the cave yet. The corpse was stripped of all its clothing and any items it once possessed while still living. These the cloaked figure donned upon himself, his dark cloak now turned inside out to reveal a red interior, almost the same shade of red as the Orcs leathery skin.
All in all, the disguise was poor and rather unconvincing, reflecting on the amount of time the Cloaked Figure had to put the ensemble together. But one of the few little known facts about Orcs was that even though they had excellent vision during the day and even better vision at night, in the waning hours of the day, twilight, Orcs could not see very well. The Cloaked Figure likened it to when it was bright outside and you just entered a dimly lit room and it took a little while for your eyes to adjust to the difference in lighting, only a lot worse. He hoped that because of this fact, the two armored Orcs standing guard outside wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and the Orc shamans entering the cave, and he would be able to slip in without a fuss and see what was going on in there. As he made his way from the hut, up the trail to the cave, he could see the two Orcs eyeing him and said a silent prayer that his little ruse would not be discovered. He would have much preferred for it to work so he can see the Orcs new weapon for himself, determine what to do with it, and then slaughter them all. But if it didn’t work, the Cloaked Figure was not against killing the two guards and taking his chances storming the cave.
Then there was the matter of his wolven friend. While it would have appeared strange for an Orc shaman to be followed by any animal at all, especially one that was from the northern continent, Uthradt, and wasn’t native to any of the known regions of Termalane, the Cloaked Figure did not intend for the wolf to be seen at all. Leaving him outside the cave was not an option, as he would probably have need of the animal’s assistance if a fight broke out, so instead the cloaked figure did the only thing to smuggle the wolf in with him, he hid him between his legs underneath the shaman’s robes. It made walking feel a little awkward and he had to hunch over to properly keep his balance, but he thought it leant further weight to the disguise, giving him an aged appearance and further concealing his cloaked features.
Coming upon the two Guards, he exuded as much of an air of importance as he could and that he was in too much in a hurry to be stopped and questioned by these two bunglers and that he would be extremely displeased if he were to be delayed. He was familiar with a bit of the Orc language, so if we was stopped he would be able to converse a little, but every second of delay increased the chances of his plan not working. He drew even with the guards, not looking at them but straight ahead as if they were not worth his notice. One of the Guards gave a snort but made no move to obstruct him, and the other followed suit. Obviously they had learned their lesson from their earlier encounter with the first group of Shamans and we’re not looking to be rebuked again this night. This in fact saved their lives, for the moment anyway. Without looking back at the two Orc Guards, he entered the cave. The wolf let out a low moan from between his legs and the cloaked figure felt it press up into his groin in an effort to fully stand up and get out from underneath the stuffy and uncomfortable robes.
“Quiet,” he whispered to the wolf in rebuke. “You want to get us both killed. Not much further and then I’ll let you out, but until then, quit your bellyaching.”
The wolf did as it was told, crouching back down so the cloaked figure could continue his awkward walk and the two made they’re way deeper into the cave.

Coming upon a small crag in the shadows of the earthen walls, the cloaked figure was finally able to let the wolf loose and discard the stuffy robes. Turning his cloak back to its black exterior and after checking his considerable arsenal of weapons and poking his head out to make sure the path was clear he and the wolf set out once more.
The interior of the cave was nothing special as far as caves went. The sides were worn smooth from many years of wind erosion from air circulating through the inner passages. Water dripped down from the rock overhangs, sometimes falling straight down onto the flat cave floor sometimes dribbling down rock formations grown over thousands of years and further growing over thousands of years more. And like all caves it was dark as if sunlight dare not enter this place. The only light came from the lit torches that were jammed into the many cracks in the walls, casting a faint glow over the interior of the cave.
Soon after setting on his way again, the Cloaked Figure found his way into a wide cavern like hall with ornate squarish stone pillars reaching into the darkness to support an unseen ceiling. Four torches we’re planted on every pillar, one on each side in a cross pattern, casting light far into the reaches of the hall but failing to find the walls of the chamber.  Stretching out with his senses, he could hear faint voices from somewhere further on. He began to move closer to the voices hoping to overhear what they were talking about and maybe gain some information, but then quickly back-peddled as he realized the voices were moving in his direction. He retreated into the shadows, the wolf settling down right beside him, just before two of the Orc Shamans passed by.
From what the Cloaked Figure could grasp of their conversation before they walked out of his range of hearing, he surmised that whatever it was the Orcs were working on, there was a lot of it and that they would have enough ready to completely level the human settlements within the next day or so. If that was true, then his timing couldn’t have been better. With any luck, the cloaked figure could observe the Orcs while they were readying their weapon and they’d be too focused on working to notice his presence.
Waiting until he was sure the two shamans were safely gone and would not be coming back, the Cloaked Figure set out once more. Following the path the shamans had come from, or at least what he guessed was the path, he left the hall and entered the tunnel like passages once more. These passages had a distinctive downward slope to them and the Cloaked Figure was pretty sure he would be completely under the level of the valley before he found the exit. The air was becoming stale and the temperature felt like it was rising the further down he went. The heavy cloak only made it worse, but he dare not remove it, lest he need to conceal himself once more. The heat was almost unbearable now, his vision his beginning to cloud over and sweat was now pouring from his body. However, despite that fact that he should also be feeling dizzy and lightheaded, his mind felt strangely clear.
A few more minutes of walking and he realized why that was. The Cloaked Figure realized that his vision had not clouded over because of a physical ailment but in fact because he had walked into a mist of steam. Walking further on he was not surprised to see that the tunnel opened up to reveal an underground hot-spring, steam rising from the pool to gather in the air in a great white cloud. He was surprised, however, to see that the hot spring sported a rather lush garden. Looking up he was surprised once more to see not a dark expanse of nothingness that concealed a ceiling, but a twinkling starscape, apparently the roof had caved in at some point and ventilated the steam and allowed some daylight inside the dark confines of the cave, but it shouldn’t have been enough to support the amount of plant life he saw in this chamber. He caught a glint of something in the starlight and looking closer, he saw that there was something up there, several somethings actually, that was reflecting light from outside the cave. That had to be it then. The Orcs had put those reflectors there to catch the light of the sun throughout the day and reflect it down into the cave to allow the plants to grow. It was clever for Orcs, in fact it was ingenious, but he severely doubted that they had gone to the trouble of putting those things up there and growing this garden just because they wanted some pretty flowers to look at. This garden, and by extension its plants, had to somehow be involved with the Orcs new weapon.
At that moment, the Cloaked Figure heard heavy footfalls coming from a tunnel set off to the side of where he’d entered the garden. Silently beckoning to the wolf to follow, he rushed into the garden to find a spot to hide. He saw several overhangs set high on the rock face, chose one that would afford a clear view of the garden and still conceal his position, then quickly climbed it, his long years of training and experience making the required time short and the physical exertion minimal. The wolf followed close behind, jumping from rock to rock to reach the same ledge as he. They barely had time to settle in when the first of the Orcs appeared. Peaking over the ledge he saw that it wasn’t just one or two, but many. Gathered in two separate lines set side by side, they were all hunched over and dragging their feet, both telltale signs that these were of the worker class, slaves who were carrying crudely shaped metallic buckets.
         The Cloaked Figure assumed they were taking water from the hot spring, but as he looked on he saw that they were up to something else. Instead of heading for the steaming pool in the center of the garden, they spread out and started wandering around the plants. It was then that the Cloaked Figure noticed that there were only two kinds of plants in this particular garden. The plants, one a fauna of emerald green roots and a bulb of yellow petals with thin orange stripes running down their length and icy blue veins threading their way across their surface, the other one of brownish red roots and a bulb of Crimson and Violet petals, were both ones that he had seen many times in his ventures across of Termalane, but always separately, never had he seen them gathered in one place before. He saw the workers stroke the plants and that each secreted an odd liquid substance, one blue, the other green.
After the workers had filled their buckets, they turned to leave in the same two lines as they entered in. As he brooded over what they would need these liquids for, he saw out of the corner of his eye one of the workers stumble. Whether it was from fatigue or if he simply tripped over a rock or a plant root he never had the chance to find out. The worker stumbled right into a worker in the other line in front of him, the collision sending the fluid he was carrying high into the air. Then as if being struck down by a vengeful god who looked harshly at clumsiness the Orc as well as the other Orcs near him suddenly burst into flame. As if to further lend weight that this fire was divine in nature, it was a flame of flickering green and white instead of the yellow and orange of natural fires. Those workers fortunate enough to not be caught in the flames simply backed away, not moving to help their brethren, lest they be engulfed in the godly flames themselves. They simply watched as the burning Orcs screamed and writhed in agony as they were seared alive. Moments later it was all over, one of the workers called for several more, which gathered and left with the charred remains of the fallen. Then the worker Orcs got back into line and departed with their buckets into the tunnel from which they entered.
         The Cloaked Figure climbed down from his hiding place and went over to examine the area in which the Orcs had caught ablaze. The ground was blackened and hot to the touch. Not surprising for a fire, but there were no traces of what had caused it, not from what he could see at any rate. He ran through the scenario again in his mind. The Orcs had come in. They all went to separate plants. Gathered two fluids of some kind.  Turned and started to leave. Then the Orc tripped and was set on fire. It didn’t make sense. He ran through it again and came to the same conclusion. There had to be something he was missing. He looked around, searching for something, anything that could be responsible for what had happened. He saw the wolf sniffing at something on the ground and went over to see if the animal had picked on something he hadn’t. It was a pool of one of the liquids, the blue one. It was slowly traveling along the cracks on the floor and looking ahead to see where they would go, he noticed that another pool of the liquids, this time green, slowly traveled in the opposite direction and that if they continued they would undoubtedly meet each other. Thinking over what happened again, he recalled that the Orc who tripped had spilled some of the blue liquid just before the flames appeared. He watched as the two fluids met and let out a shout as Green and White flames suddenly exploded outward once more, the Cloaked Figure barely managing to roll out of the way in time and the wolf snickered behind its paw.
         “Shut up” he said to the wolf as he examined the flames, only coming as close as he dared without setting himself on fire and meeting the same grisly fate as the Orcs. It appeared that when separated the two fluids were harmless, but if they met, even the slightest drop, they’d violently react and explode in Green and White fire. Knowing those two facts and how to apply them, and you’d have a devastating weapon indeed. The Cloaked Figure found himself thinking something he’d already thought only hours earlier. Interesting, most interesting indeed. 
         
         Now that the Cloaked Figure knew the secret to the Orcs weapon, it was time to begin the next step. Collecting on the other half of his fee. Making his way into what he surmised was the deepest of the tunnel chambers he reached under his cloak into a pouch clipped to his leather belt and pulled out two identical spheres, both a little bit bigger than the size of his close fists. The two spheres contained a powder that when ignited would emit an ever expanding cloud of smoke, but that was not all. Mixed in with the powder were other ingredients, Bengalli Pepper, Golthak Root, Firadur leaf, plus a few other little knicks and knacks to spice things up. Combined with the smoke, the mixture would become choking and irritating to the senses, even more so with Orcs since their sense of smell was far more sensitive than a human beings.
         Finding a nice shadowy spot that was well ventilated, he lit the two spheres candle wicks and set them down. He preferred candle wicks to powdered fuses because candle wicks burned slower. It would take thirty minutes for the wicks to reach and ignite the powder inside the spheres and would take about another thirty minutes for the smoke to fully ventilate throughout the cave and drive the Orcs outside. In one turn of the hourglass the Orcs would begin to leave the cave and then the fun would start.
         It only took him a little more than ten minutes for him to find his way to the outside of the cave and only a little bit more than ten seconds for him to kill the two guards. He did not even bother trying to hide to bodies, everyone who worked in the cave would already be inside, and like before he couldn’t waste anytime. He beckoned to Luca and together the two of them got to work.
         
         Time was almost up and the smoke would already be well on its way to doing its job. Luckily the Cloaked Figure was a fast worker. His task completed, and once again safely hidden just outside and to the right of the cave’s entrance, all he had left to do was wait. He didn’t have to wait long. Slowly at first, but then in greater numbers they made for the cave’s exit. He heard shouts, and knew the first of the Orcs must have seen the two dead bodies of the Guards he had killed earlier, as well as the now fuming smoke screen he had set up just outside the cave, but unlike the last, this one only disrupting one’s sense of sight. He heard what sounded like orders being issued, probably from a shaman, and a detachment of Orcs clad head to toe in armor moved outside to locate any threats that might be in the area. He wasn’t worried though. Like always he chose his position well and was confident in his abilities not to be seen.
         One of the Armored Orcs shouted back to the cave and the reply was immediate and somewhat harsh. From what he heard of it, the Shamans weren’t coming out until they were sure it was safe, even though the air was irritating to breathe. Good, he thought, a predictable response and all according to his plan. He watched the Orcs cautiously venture into the billowing smoke cloud and disappear from sight. He would deal with them momentarily, first came those cowering in the cave. Had the Shamans and workers not been in such a hurry to get out and had been paying more attention, they might have realized the floor was wet, even thought the air was as dry as a bone. They also might have noticed that the buckets their workers used suspended above their heads.
         After he had disposed of the two guards he went back into the cave and found an Orc workstation, fortunately devoid of Orc workers, and then made his way to the garden where the workers had caught fire. Using the same method he had seen the Orc workers use, he extracted as much of the blue and green liquids as he could carry, taking great care to keep the two separate, and returned to the cave entrance. With the wolf acting as a lookout, the Cloaked Figure was free to work as he pleased. Carefully wetting the floor in the blue liquid and then suspending the buckets full of green liquid from the ceiling using some of his climbing gear and rope, then tying it to a stake set in the ground in front of him, he made his trap.
         And now was the time to spring it. Removing a small hunting knife from somewhere beneath his cloak he cut the rope and let the buckets fall. He heard shouts of surprise as Shaman’s and workers were pelted from above with the buckets and fluid, but it was feeble in comparison to the screams of agony as the green and blue liquids touched and ignited, turning the small enclosed space of the cave into a burning green and white Hell. They never stood a chance of surviving, the flame would travel downhill along the path of the blue fluid, straight back to the garden and beyond, killing everything inside the cave.
         Springing from his concealed position, he sprinted the distance to the cloud of smoke to finish the job, the wolf as always only one step behind. One of the Armored Orcs, carrying a vicious serrated curved blade, dashed out in the opposite direction to locate the source of the screams. His left arm disappeared into the folds of the cloak and reemerged hefting an ornate runic hatchet. Lighting fast he drew back his arm, running all the while, and just as fast let the hatchet fly straight to the throat of the surprised Orc. The hatchet struck deep and the Orc let out a quite gurgle as it collapsed, dead before it hit the ground. Never slowing his pace, the Cloaked Figure scooped up the hatchet, his forward running momentum tearing it out of the Orcs throat in a bloody mess. He merely flicked off the blood and ran into the acrid cloud of unseen blood lusting Orcs.
         Almost immediately he was rendered blind, the billowing smoke blotting out the sun and covering him in a foggy darkness. He was sure the Orcs left in the encampment had seen the cloud of smoke by now, unless they were incredibly thick in the head, and would not be long until they came to see what all the commotion was about, the trolls most likely not very far behind. The last thing he wanted to have to deal with right now was a group of angry trolls. He’d have to be quick about this.
         Retuning the hatchet into the folds of his cloak, he then reached behind him and pulled out two knives, but unlike average knives, these curved downwards into sharp hooks past the grips pommel. Holding one in each hand he set about stalking his prey.
         With sight being almost completely useless, taste never being a viable option in the first place, and not wanting to get close enough to touch them unless he was in a position to kill, he was left with only his senses of hearing and smell. He had counted 12 Orcs in the detachment that had been sent out, minus the one he had killed with his hatchet, and they were still affected by the smoke from the cave they wouldn’t have an easy time of smelling him and his training had long providing with knowledge on how to move about without making noise. In this dense cloud, even though their numbers were superior, he had the advantage. Around and about the cloud he stalked, stretching out with his ears to locate the ever light footfall of a cautious Orc, his nose to sniff out the foul odor as growing fear made it trickle in sweat. Silently he would approach, drawing closer and closer until he was almost right on top of them, the wolf ready to pounce and back him up at a seconds notice. Then lighting fast he’d strike, his twin blades carving a deadly line across the Orcs throat, biting deep and rendering him incapable of making any sound, unable to send any warning to his comrades. It was over almost before it began. The Orcs never even realized they were doomed until it was already too late.
         Walking out of the smoke, his cloak and bandaged face covered in soot, he began his trek back down the mountain and headed for the encampment.

         In general the Orcs were not a curious species, seeing something like a smoke cloud coming from ones place of work accompanied by several loud bangs, despite how unusual it was, was usually not enough to get an Orc to stop what it was doing and rush to the scene to find out what was going on. That being said, taking the special nature of the contents of that place of work into account, it merited some investigation. A group of five Orcs armed only with the clothing on their backs and the shovels and pitchforks they used for farming were sent up the mountain to see what all the commotion was about up at the Cave of Green Fire, where the apparent fire was casting an eerie glow over the horizon. 
          A dense fog was beginning to fall over the valley, the rainy season would begin soon and such occurrences were common. Just as the five scouts began to move toward the mountain trail, a shadow emerged in the fog. In a lit backdrop aided by both the fire up the mountain and the torches set on the outside of the village to ward away predators during the night the shadow stood out clearly, and it seemed to be getting larger as if coming to closer to the now fully attentive crowd of Orcs. They inched closer, waiting eagerly to see if it perhaps one of the workers or maybe someone of the warrior caste who had come down from the mountain to give the encampment any news as to what was going on up at the cave.
         The shadow grew larger and larger and as the villagers watched it metamorphosed into a dark blown off to one side in the wind. While they couldn’t see the strangers face, the right side of his waist and the lower half of his right arm were clearly visible and it was to that arm that the crowd’s eyes were drawn. In his hand, dangling from several strands of dark hair was the severed head of one of the Orcs who had been at the cave, its mouth agape, its eyes glazed over, its features twisted and frozen into an expression of shear horror, blood still dripping from the cut which had severed his head. In this strangers hand was gripped the head of one of their own. In this strangers blood soaked hand, in this strangers human hand.
         One of gathered Orcs, the first to shake the confusion that had dawned on the crowd, let out a loud roar and charged the stranger. He stood his ground, unafraid on the pending riot that had been stirred up by his actions. He began to twirl the head like a child’s plaything as the first Orc bore down on him, yellowed fangs barred and eyes red with rage and lust for the strangers blood. When the Orc was within several feet of plowing into him he released the head and sent it flying straight into the face of the oncoming Orc. The Orc took the blow full on the head blinding him and causing him to lose his balance as his head reeled backwards and his forward momentum carrying his legs upwards as he performed a full back-flip before hitting the ground. Almost simultaneously, the stranger drew a short sword from beneath his cloak flipped the hilt in his hand in a reverse grip and thrusted downwards onto the now exposed throat of the fallen Orc.
         This display fully awakened the others and they too let out roars and howls of their own. For their part several trolls bashed clubs, crude things fashioned from the trunks of fallen trees and meandered and pushed their way past the crowded Orcs to face the stranger. The Orcs behind let out huffs of maniacal laughter, imagining what the torment the stranger was about to receive from the trolls. This caused several of the trolls to stupidly chuckle as well as they began advancing on the stranger. In response the stranger assumed a fighting stance, short sword held out in front of him unwavering in his grip despite his clear disadvantage against the trolls.
         “You gonna need more than that puny little blade to fight them trolls, boy!” one of the Orcs in the crowd shouted out. The rest of the trolls expressed their agreement in howls of laughter and roars, as well as several suggestions to the trolls on ways to make the cloaked one suffer.
         The Stranger appeared to contemplate this for a moment, looked at the short sword, looked at the trolls, looked at the sword again and once more at the trolls. Then with a shrug he returned the short sword beneath the folds of his cloaked. The trolls laughed harder at this and advanced menacingly, their clubs held high above their heads, ready to come down and pulverize the now unarmed stranger. Still he held his ground, his right arm reaching behind him and pulling something large and wrapped in oiled cloth from the bindings on his back.
The Trolls continued their advance undeterred and still the stranger did not waver. He merely began unwrapping the item he had pulled off his back, humming a strange tune as he did so. At this the Trolls slowed to a stop, confused at this puny little human who did not seem to be afraid of them. They exchanged odd glances. They had seen battle against the human settlements, there were certainly some humans who made good warriors but no human, no smart human anyway, stood his ground against a group of charging trolls much less happily humming a tune all the while. Yet here this human stood, in defiance of all the trolls thought of humans in general. One of the Trolls shrugged and they started advancing again. If this human desired an early death, then the trolls would happily oblige.
The First of the Trolls reached the human with a loud roar. Its club raised high in its left hand, ready to swing down and crush the life out of the stranger, who was still in the midst of unwrapping whatever it was he was holding. He stopped his humming, glancing up to see the troll towering over him, ready to flatten him with its tree like club. He let out a soft chuckle barely audible to the roaring troll and with blinding speed he drew back the still half unwrapped weapon he was holding and even faster and with seemingly impossible strength for a mere human swept it back around in a blow to the right side of the trolls face, crushing the monsters skull in a bloody mess of bone and brain matter. The force of the blow rocked the monster onto one foot and caused it to drop its massive club which landed with a sickening crack on the top of the trolls head, causing further damage and rendering the beast unconscious.
The remaining trolls stopped their attack and gaped at the bloodied heap that was their comrade. The stranger resumed unwrapping the weapon, humming the same tune as he waited for the next troll to step forward and try attacking him.  The trolls to their credit stayed back, waiting to see just what it was that could defeat a mighty troll in one blow. The wrappings came off and coiled at the stranger’s feet like serpents eagerly awaiting their next meal and the glint of shiny metal could be made out underneath, reflecting the ghostly white light from the moon above and the flickering orange light from the many torches in the encampment.
As more of the cloth was unwrapped more of the weapon could be seen revealing a massive sword. A large hilt, larger than was reasonable for a human of this size, but upon closer inspection there were actually two sections of the hilt separated by the weapons main guard with the secondary hilt meeting directly with the weapons serpentine blade. The blade itself measured double the arm span of an average human, about four feet in length. The weapon was a Flamberge, a weapon the humans primarily used to combat riders on horseback but it somehow seemed fitting for the stranger’s current situation. 
Once more the trolls exchanged glances and together they charged the stranger, loud roars and promises to avenge their fallen comrade leading the way. The first of the trolls to reach the stranger swung down while still running forward, not wanting to meet the same fate as its predecessor but the stranger side-stepped the falling club and rammed the Flamberge into the trolls gut. The troll collapsed as pain and its remaining momentum carried it chin first into the ground and the stranger didn’t hesitate, swinging his massive blade downward into the back of the trolls now exposed neck and the beast feel limp. Within the seconds the next troll attacked. A great side to side sweep meant to catch him off guard and break every bone in his midsection. But the stranger, expecting the blow, did not move to avoid it but instead jumped atop the trolls club, landing in a crouch on the weapons haft. The troll stood there stunned, its mouth agape and was helpless as the stranger ran up the weapons length and cleaved through its open maw and severed its head at the mouth. He jumped from the falling body, plowing into the torso of another troll and ramming his sword through its chest into its heart and the beast collapsed on its back with the stranger atop it. He heard a roar and turned to face the last troll as it too charged at him, hell bent on avenging his troll brethren and smashing this runt of a human into a thousand pieces. The stranger withdrew his blade from the now dead troll’s chest and charged at the troll dodging the club as it smashed the earth next to him and cut into the beast’s lower thigh in a side ways slash as he ran past. The troll’s leg buckled and it collapsed to a kneeling position and the stranger took the opportunity to climb its back and stab his sword into the troll’s neck, twisting it and severing its spine. It was dead before it hit the ground.
The gathered Orcs were in a state of shock. Mouths agape and eyes wide they stared at the stranger, at his sword dripping blood from the trolls he had just slaughtered so easily. Then in a frenzy they all drew weapons. Chipped axes, rusted crudely shaped blades with no proper hilt, hammers, broken table legs serving as clubs, roars and howls and shouts escaping their now snarling features. The Stranger reached into the folds of his cloak and drew the short sword he had traded for the Flamberge earlier. Wielding the short sword in his left had and the Flamberge in his right, he turned and faced the crowd ready for a fight. In a final loud roar the crowd of Orcs charged the stranger, and the stranger charged at them. The encampment erupted in chaotic battle, the Orcs in the back of the crowd pushing and shoving to get a piece of the human. The stranger twisted this way and that, parrying a blow from an axe wielding Orc and twisting again to strike at another’s exposed flank. Twisting and turning he blocked and deflected attacks while at the same time lashing out at the enemy with whatever he had on hand. His Flamberge biting deep into an Orc’s torso, short sword slashing across another’s throat, his leg kicking another back into the Orcs behind him and toppling them over to be trampled by the crowd, his elbow catching an Orc on the temple in a vicious blow, his head butting into the hard skull of another Orc who had gotten in close, breaking its nose and sending it back-peddling. The stranger entire body was a weapon as he cut and slammed and pummeled his enemies. Torches knocked off their perches in the chaos set tents and stores aflame, lighting the battle and casting shadows in every direction, as well as blocking off any chance of escape the Stranger or the Orcs might’ve had. A new chaos erupted in the back of the crowd as a grey white wolf joined in the fray, biting and slashing and clawing at the Orcs unafraid of their weapons. The wolf leapt onto and over the back of an Orc and jumped into the main foray with the stranger and the entire encampment erupted into one big melee. The stranger and his wolf companion in sync was they fended off one Orc after another. Claws slashing one enemy, sword slashing another. Leg kicking over and enemy, fangs ripping out its throat in a geyser of blood.
And the battle raged on.

It was just before daybreak in the human settlement and the Baron waited nervously for the Mysterious man in the Cloak that had appeared to him two nights before and promised to deal with the Orcs. He had been skeptical of the mans abilities and had sent several of his few remaining scouts to spy on the Orcs encampment in the mountains and report back to him immediately is anything happened. He was awakened in the middle of the night by one of his generals who told him one of the scouts had reported back. The baron told the general to bring the scout up immediately so he could hear his report in person. According to the scout, approximately one hour after sunset a giant smoke cloud could be seen at the caves. Afterwards he received two more reports from more of his scouts. Ten minutes after the first scout left to report the cloud of smoke back to the baron the cave erupted in green and white flames and then an hour after that scout left, the activity in the encampment had dramatically increased and had also erupted in flames, supposedly a battle had taken place and not a single Orc survived. But the puzzling thing was that they seemed more to be fighting among themselves but the scouts admitted that the encampment was in too much chaos interpret anything they saw clearly. But the odds of the Cloaked Figure surviving fighting so many Orcs were drastically against him.
And so the Baron waited on his balcony, coin purse with the other half of the Cloaked Man’s fee in his hand. He wondered if the man had perished with the Orcs, if he had he wouldn’t have to pay but at the same time one man sacrificing himself in a battle against so many deserved something. Perhaps the Baron would address his people in the mourning and give a stirring eulogy on the nameless hero to honor his memory and thank him for he sacrifice. Yes that’s what he would do. Feeling better with himself he turned towards his bedchambers so he could get some sleep when he heard a scuffling noise coming from behind him. He whipped around, heart racing as he looked for the source of the noise. Out of the shadows emerged the Cloaked Figure, Dark cloak shrouding his features. The Baron marveled at this seemingly impossible feat before him.
“Its you! y-you’re alive!” The Baron stammered. The Mysterious figure said nothing. He merely held out his gloved hand. “You’re fee! O-of course! Here you go!”
He placed the coin purse into the mans waiting hand. The Cloaked Figure loosed the string holding it closed and did a cursory count of the gold inside. Satisfied, he tightened the string and his hand disappeared into the folds of his cloak, the coin purse with it, and with that Cloaked Figure turned to leave.
“W-Wait!” the Baron croaked. “Please! You must tell me how you defeated all those Orcs. What was that weapon they were using against us? We shall hold a feast in your honor! A-and you shall serve by my side a-as my new General. You shall have Gold! Land! Women! Anything you desire!”
“Not interested,” was all the Cloaked Man said in reply.
         This puzzled the Baron, who had been spoiled all his life. “At least tell me your name and what land you hail from, so I know who it is we have to thank for this,” he said with a confused expression on his face.
         The Cloaked Figure paused atop the railing of the grand balcony. His voice was a whisper, carried to the Baron’s ears as if floating on the wind. “I am Zane Yavok of the Mead Hills,” and with that the Cloaked Figure leapt from the balcony, disappearing into the darkness that was the night.
         It all made perfect sense to the Baron now, how one man could take on so many enemies and not only survive, but emerge victorious. The warriors of the Mead hills, renown across all of Telmar as the fiercest and the bravest of warriors. The Baron began to shake his head, a shallow grin creeping to his face. One word escaped his lips in a whisper as he returned to his bedchambers.
         “Savages.”