Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dirigible" data-source="post: 1239008" data-attributes="member: 12631">Trallok lowered the horn from his lips, and listened. A few beats later, another sounded nearby, shaking the trees. The orc turned and looked up at the mounted woman, givng her a grim nod. "Wargrak's bloodtrackers have their scent too, Legate. They are ahead of us, down the gully. Not far," Trallok reported in orcish. He adjusted the set of his throwing axes, feeling the comforting weight against his chest.Soldier-Legate Sharain unlimbered her shield, and began straping it to her forearm. As she did so, she replied down to Trallok "Let the horn's pannick them. Shethryn will return soon, and by then they will be on the run. Fleeing prey doesn't guard it's back." Although her pronounciation was terrible, the fact she could speak orcish at all had always impressed Trallok; most humans could never master the subtlities and inflections of his native tongue, and their own came to him as easily as childs play.That was why he had followed her into this elf-haunted killing ground; true, he had come on raids into the Caraheen before, but always at the point of an oruk's spear or a Legate's whip. Sharain was the only shadow-priest he would follow into the woods willingly. Strong was his wish to be back in the foothills of the Lia Rudh Emyn, home, though; the cold, open slopes were much more to his liking than the overly warm, dreadfully cramped eaves of the woods. His female would be entering heat by now, he thought mournfully.Sharain turned in the saddle, idly running a gauntlet down the mane of her stallion as she did so. Gallimar was massive, of Dornish warhorse stock, bred by the Temple horsewranglers for size and ferocity. The horse whickered under her touch, stamping a blade-shod hoof impatiently, hungry for battle. The Legate ran her gaze over the twenty of so orcs crouched behind her; Trallok could not help but notice those she looked at straightened and - he could think of no other word - preened, wiping dirt off the blades of their battleaxes, puffing out their black-scale armoured chests and trying to look especially fierce for their commander. Cleary, Trallok was not the only orc here who held the human woman in great esteem.Another thirty or so blooded warriors, led by Wargrak, Braator, Hungark and others, were spread out through the woods around them, moving wide to cut off potential escape routes from the humans they sought. Trallok would be the first to admit he was an orc of little intelligence (well, second; Hungark thought himself the warband's resident wit), but why his band had been sent to find some sword was far beyond him. Worse, he wasn't sure of Sharain herself knew why; when a Greater Legate said "Do it!" a wise follower of the Shadow did not stop to enquire his reasons. The fact that a platoon of goblins had been dispatched to provide cover told him that whoever had ordered it considered this important; that, or they were incompetant and cared little for Odrendor lives. Both were distinct possibilities.A rustling in the brush close at hand brought Trallok out of his thoughts. From behind him, he could hear the creaking of bowstaves being drawn back as several of his men took aim. Moments later, one of the small, striped forest bears that inhabited this accursed woodland emerged and cast a contemptous glare at the orcish bowmen. A slight motion from him would have had the beast pincushioned and ready to be served for evening rations, but he had learned to be cautious when it came to animals. Often, they were more than they seemed.Sharain kneed her steed a few paces closer. "Shethryn..." she studied the bear carefully. What passed between them then was beyond the orc's ken."Missstresss. I have sssseen them, not far to the easssst. Three in number, though one issss a deathwalker. The otherssss are both Wielderssss; one hasss felt my ssssting, though lightly." The asterix reported. The bear sat on it's haunches, licking it's snout, as if tasting the blood from it's previous host.Sharain nodded, her thin lips showing the ghost of a satisfied smile, and glanced over her shoulder at the assembled orcs. "We move! By pairs, bloodtrackers to the fore, and stay wide! The accursed wood-fey may have yet more snares to waylay us!" She drew her mace from the saddle, and spoke to Trallok. "Spread the word."Baring his tusks in a feral grin, Trallok raised the horn to his lips. - - - Coel sprang to his feet as the horn cried out, a curse on his tongue. He grabbed Ellionwy by the arm and shook her. "Pack. Hurry." She stared at him for just a moment, then began quickly gathering her belongings. Urlandt rose as well, flakes of dried blood and dirt cracking off his pallid skin. Coel scowled, and prepared to tell the dead, giant fool that there was not a chance in the Dark he would be comming with them..."I will stay behind" the Dorn sighed, his thick voice resigned and regretful. Coel stared, then nodded. Good. He'll hold them up for a few minutes... The wildlander stooped and picked up his pack and quiver, and saw that the girl had likewise finnished her packing."Urlandt...I..." she sounded on the edge of tears. No bloody time for this, Coel snarled to himself."Don't spend your words or tears on one already dead, child," the ungrael replied softly, picking up his war maul. He glanced across at Coel. "Run like the bloody wind, you swift bastard".Coel snorted, and pulled Ellionwy after him into the forest. Behind them, Urlandt turned to face the oncomming foe, his stiff, cold fingers tightening on the haft of his weapon. His boot came down on the fire, extinguishing the last embers.He smiled in anticipation.</blockquote>

Verification