The snow-covered peaks of the Darkhists looked so peaceful. Countless evergreens stood dusted with powder, and a single hawk soared in the piercingly clear blue sky. Sunlight glittered off the undisturbed snow, causing the solitary watcher to squint against the brilliance.
Korg inhaled deeply, tasting the fresh clean air of the mountains. He smiled as his breath turned into a cloud of mist as it left his mouth, then quickly vanished into the beautiful morning. He wondered at how long it had been since he had seen such a morning, and how long it would be before he saw another to surpass it. His mind raced at the task at hand, but couldn’t help being drawn back sequence of events that brought him to this juncture.
Korg was no ordinary orc. Most of his race were brutish, violent, and most of all, stupid. They seldom thought further ahead than the next day’s meal, or tomorrow’s battle. The orc tribes on the eastern slopes of the Darkhists had warred for hundreds of years, never establishing anything that could be called civilization. They lived by hunting, and by taking what they needed from those around them. That all changed a year ago.
Korg was a powerful warrior of the Dark Skull tribe, and had lead many successful raids against his neighbors. He was so successful, in fact, that he quickly unseated his chieftain, claiming the title for himself. His successes on the battlefield were pleasing to Haakon, the patron of war, and many orcs from the defeated tribes were absorbed into the Dark Skulls. Korg utilized a weapon seldom seen in orc tribal warfare, a natural genius for tactics and strategy, allowing his forces to overwhelm much larger foes with little or no losses. Eventually, Korg had gathered a horde of over one thousand orc warriors, eager for combat. It was then that the Dark Man came.
Korg could still remember the shadow that passed through the camp, seeking his tent like an arrow. Mighty orc warriors who had never shown fear shied away from the Dark Man, and none dared block his path. When he finally reached the tent, Korg could make out none of his features, for they were shrouded in shadow, and the man’s black cape seemed to move with a will of its own. At nearly seven feet tall, the man was one of the few who could meet Korg’s gaze.
"Korg of the Dark Skulls, you have done well. Your forces are unmatched by the orc tribes. But tell me, when you have brought the orcs under your yoke, who then will you conquer?" The Man’s voice seemed barely a whisper, but it scythed through the air like a knife, demanding attention. Korg opened his mouth to reply, only to realize that he had no answer.
"Across the mountains lies a land of great wealth, a land of soft humans and weak kelessir, a land ripe for conquest. You will complete your quest to bring the orcs under your thumb, and then you will take your horde to crush the humans." Korg rankled at the thinly veiled command, for no one would dare order him to do anything.
"And what do you gain, Dark One?" Korg asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
"My reasons are my own, and so they shall stay. However, I do offer some benefits for your compliance..." The Dark Man took two strides forward, reaching forward to grasp Korg by the shoulder. Korg’s eyes widened in pain as the Man’s hand touched his shoulder. It burned with an intensity he had never before felt, not like fire, but like the coldest ice, sending waves of numbing cold down his shoulder. The agony forced Korg to one knee, but he managed to keep silent through the ordeal. It seemed to last for hours, but as suddenly as the assault had begun, the searing cold ceased. Korg quickly rose to his feet, and pulled aside the charred scraps of his shirt to stare at the mark. It was a black handprint, burned into his flesh, but it was no ordinary tattoo. The hand seemed to draw in all available light, and it drew his gaze into the murky depths, and he felt it pulling his very soul. Korg tore his eyes away from the mark to stare at the dark stranger.
"You are now mine. And in return for your service, I offer you this..." His cloak seemed to shift and move, and he reached back into the shrouds of its concealing darkness, pulling forth a magnificent sword, seemingly from nowhere. Korg stared hungrily at the sword, a mighty claymore that seemed forged of smoked glass. Fingers of darkness writhed within the confines of the blade, as if thirsty for the taste of blood. Korg grasped the hilt, and could feel the raw power flowing into his arm. When Korg was finally able to look away from the sword, the Dark Man was gone.
Less than a week after his meeting with the Dark Man, Korg had completed the unification of the orc tribes, and now had a horde of over five thousand capable warriors. The Dark Skulls had given up the name, and in honor of their captain, had been renamed the Black Hand.
Korg glanced back over his shoulder, drawing himself from the reverie of the morning and his recollections. He saw the advance guard of his mighty horde marching steadily over the mountain pass. His brow furrowed at the thought that almost two hundred of his warriors had fallen to hunger or the cold, and many of their warbeasts, the giant wolves and the huge elephants, had also fallen victim to the elements. But he could not remain troubled for long, because gazing now to the southwest, he could see the rich plains and hills of his promised reward.
Sayra grimaced at the reports flooding in from the foothills. There had always been minor problems with the frontier, as the akari and orc tribes of the mountains raided the human settlements for food and weapons. Normally, though, the raids were isolated, and usually only during the colder months. With Belusk just passed three days ago, spring was well on its way, and the tribes had no reason for the massive attacks all along the foothills of the Darkhists.
A tall woman just entering her twenties, Sayra wondered how she could deal with this problem. Her long auburn hair bespoke her heritage as a descendant of the great Kenric Dragonbane, but her family was only a minor line, distant cousins of the Imperial Family. Her blue-gray eyes sparkled with a keen intelligence, something not commonly prized in the daughters of noble families. She thought fondly back to her father, Lukus Kandor, and how he had taken his darling only child into his meetings, teaching her the ins and outs of politics in the increasingly cutthroat Imperial Court. Most importantly, she thought back to the feast of Verinstide, just two months ago, when she was married to his Glorious Imperial Majesty, Ruler of the Vincalar, Kenric II. Like most political marriages it had been pre-arranged, but she had come to love Kenric over their two-year engagement. She knew that certain members of the Council of Lords, notably Varyn Bryther, were exceedingly displeased with her selection and elevation to Empress.
"As if Ylesia would have made a better choice," Sayra mumbled to herself as she sorted through the maps and missives from the frontier, referring to Varyn’s own daughter, and her chief rival in the selection. The sound of boots clapping on the marble floors drew her attention away from the table and to the grand double doors.
"What is the latest news?" Kenric asked briskly. He was a stunning example of the typically handsome Dragonbane line, though his hair was a dark black rather than the Dragonbane red. His strong frame was the result of his two years as a centurion in the Legions, and his green eyes positively lit up every time he saw his new wife. Kenric strode over to the table, and leaned over the table, scrutinizing the documents.
"The raids are increasing with alarming alacrity, and many of the untouched settlements have decided to abandon their homes and are coming to Vincal." Sayra rose from her chair to stand beside her husband, resting an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
"That can’t be good. We haven’t the resources to provide for them here." His brow furrowed in consternation, foreseeing the many problems that the increased population would bring. Without drawing his gaze from the table, he placed his arm around Sayra’s shoulders.
"We can increase the shipments of grain from Lynedale, but we really must send some sort of help to the frontier, I fear this is more than common raiders."
"Aye, Varyn agrees with you, for a change. He is leading the Third Legion to Tairenfell as we speak."
"And why not your uncle?" (She draws away from him, her mind already starting on how to outflank and neutralize Varyn’s move; she does clasp his hand)
"Rhaeden is still in Daicath with the Fifth. The road to Loriel is taking longer than expected." (He turns to look at her,
"Was Varyn really the best choice to lead the Third?" Sayra asked, concerned. Though every male born to the nobility served two years in the Legions, and Varyn was a capable if unpopular commander, she wondered if he was attempting to gain some sort of political advantage by dealing with this threat personally.
"I could not very well say no. With Rhaeden in the field, and Taikal only eighteen, there is no one else who outranks him," (Taikal had only been selected as Sword of Vincalar two months ago, and was hardly qualified to general a Legion yet. Swords and Shield of this era are still chosen from the Dragonbane family, and usually the primary line ie brothers to the Emperor, though sometimes cousins are chosen if there are not enough sons. I see Kenric as trusting Varyn as a good general and a friend of his father’s, but he doesn’t see Varyn as manipulating him)
"No, I suppose it can’t be helped." (They go off to their bedroom? Or perhaps to dinner or something, hand in hand)
Varyn Bryther sat his horse like a man accustomed to the saddle. For a man nearly fifty who had not ridden more than a few miles in over twenty years, his pride had a great deal to do with his passive expression. Bryther still fumed at the necessity of this charade, but he desperately needed some sort of popular appeal if he was going to reassert his family’s control over the Council. Since the death of Torr III nine years ago, he had been steadily losing ground. For a man once accustomed to making nearly all of the decisions for the Empire, albeit through a Dragonbane mouthpiece, it was increasingly irritating to have to ask for permission. Torr had been a remarkably pliable Emperor, and his son Kenric showed every indication of being the same way. For years, the only real check on his power was the Emperor’s brother and Shield, Rhaeden, but it was simple enough to keep the Empire’s premiere general away from the capital putting down minor revolts, clearing out infestations of orcs, akari, and trolls, or just building the increasingly vast network of roads that held the empire together. After his appointment to Regent on Torr’s death, he had assumed he would remain the chief spider in the web behind the throne.
But somehow, that little whore had been chosen to be Empress. Even after the confirmation of the engagement two years ago, he hadn’t thought it would be that extreme a setback. Yes, his own daughter Ylesia couldn’t feed the Emperor thoughts and information, meaning that he would have to exert his own influence over the young man, but he had never expected the canny defenses that woman had set up. Several of his choices for Justicar had been blocked, and his eldest son had been passed over for the Consulship of Lynedale. Since the Emperor came of age and his Regency had ended, and even more so since the marriage, he was struggling to retain even the barest margin of power over the other members of the Council.
Hence his offer to volunteer for the token show of force along the frontier. If he could gain enough popularity in the key districts, he might be able to push a few Senators into his employ, gaining a check on the Empress and her schemes. He knew it was just a few small tribes who happened to be raiding at the same time, and thus presented little threat to the might of the Third Legion, marching behind him. He looked forward to reaching Tairenfell tonight, so that he could sleep in a real bed and possibly work out some of the sores this accursed beast was giving him.
Korg watched as the train of soldiers marched along the road below his position. The setup was almost too perfect. The road ran alongside the edge of a lake, and his horde was carefully hidden in the forested hills above. He had just finished the sack of his largest city yet, managing to catch the city completely unaware and destroying it before a defense could be arranged, or warning sent. He waited until the entire army of humans was in the vale below, and gave his signal.
Varyn spun around in his saddle as an unearthly howl arouse in the hills to his left. He watched in horror as a tide of orcs swept down the hills into his army. Normally, a Legion could easily hold off such a charge, even when outnumbered five to one, but this Legion was marching through friendly territory, and all of their weapons were tied securely to their packs. A rare few soldiers managed to tear free their swords and shields, and mount a real resistance, but the vast majority were mowed down like blades of grass. Worst of all, many of the legionnaires, clad in their armor were forced back into the lake behind them, where they were easily slain, or just left to founder and drown.
His years of training took over, and he quickly drew his sword, prepared to charge into the horde and save as many as he could. Despite his age, he managed to kill nearly a dozen orc warriors before they pulled him from his horse. A ring of orcs formed around him but did not advance. He slashed about with his sword, causing them to leap back, but still they did not press in for the kill. Slowly the crowd parted, opening a clear path to the largest orc Varyn had ever seen. Clad only in a chain vest and rippling with muscles, he had a single massive sword strapped to his back. With almost painful slowness, the orc pulled the sword from its sheath. Though the sword would have weighed down the strongest human warrior, the orc held it easily in one hand. The black blade seemed to shimmer in anticipation.
"Human, I hope you are prepared for the Shadow!" Korg roared triumphantly. With two quick strides he closed the distance between them, and swatted the human’s puny sword into the lake. He grabbed the human by the neck with his free hand, raising him a good six inches from the ground, staring coldly into the panic-stricken eyes. A feral grin broke out across Korg’s face as he slid the terrible black blade into the human’s gut.
Varyn could feel his life bleeding away, being drawn into the orc’s sword as inexorably as water is drawn down the mountain streams. He wanted to howl for vengeance, to scream in agony, but he only managed a quiet sigh before sliding to the ground in a limp mass.
The Horde broke out into a cacophonous cheer.
Word of the destruction of the Third Legion spread like wildfire throughout the Empire. The Fourth and Seventh Legions were called from their homes in Lynedale and Anper in the Seriatil plains, and the Fifth Legion made an extended forced march to rejoin the First in Vincal itself. Rhaeden IV, Shield of the Empire, strode into to the grand hall of the palace. Though his red hair had mostly turned gray, and his age was closer to fifty than to forty, his firm military stride proved difficult for his aide to match, despite a difference of nearly twenty-five years in age. Gathered around the table were the Council of Lords, his nephews Kenric and Taikal, his new niece Sayra.
"Rhaeden! Thank Peres you made it!" Kenric said with obvious relief.
"The Horde has grown in numbers: we believe they have assimilated several of the tribes from the northern edges of the Darkhists, though the akari do not seem to have joined. We have lost Tairenfell, the bulk of the Third Legion, and several auxiliary companies." Sayra stated calmly. Not one to fool around with pleasantries, Rhaeden noted. He liked this newest addition to his family already.
"Their current location?" Rhaeden asked.
"Marching south from Tairenfell. We have evacuated many of the towns in their path, and we believe that they will cross the Galorin at Tassat. If they continue their march at their current speed, they will arrive long before the Fourth or Seventh can reach us, and we haven’t the stores for a siege longer than a week or two." (Have Kenric say this, instead of Sayra?)
"We should send the commoners and slaves away, to extend our stores!" Delray Emver, noted for his unique flavor of courage, stated forcefully.
"If we attempt to turn out anyone, we will have a riot on our hands, which will sap our military strength when we need it the most." Sayra replied.
"Do we have word on the commander of the Horde?" Rhaeden asked.
"We have seen nothing to indicate any sort of organization beyond what we have come to expect from orcs," said Risov Cheis.
"Have we indeed? A force of orcs that has managed to not only capture the only fortified city in the north, but nearly wiped out an entire legion?" Kenric shot back, his anger at the idiocy coming from the council nearly getting the better of him. Rhaeden simply rested a hand on his shoulder, urging him to retain her composure. (Sayra clasps his hand supportively?)
"I would like some time to study the information we have. The Emperor and I will decide our course of action. Thank you, gentlemen," said Rhaeden. The Councilmen filed out of the hall, leaving only the Dragonbane clan and Rhaeden’s aide, Sir Khael of Daicath. (How do I play up Sir Khael?)
"If they do indeed cross at Tassat, as you say, they will be able to siege the city for the better part of a month before the other Legions can arrive. As we haven’t the supplies, we have little choice but to meet them in the field."
"And if the Horde manages to destroy both the First and the Fifth? By all accounts their numbers have swelled to the point where we would be outnumbered almost four to one," pointed Taikal, Kenric’s younger brother, and the newly appointed Sword of the Empire.
"That is why I mean to leave the First in Vincal, to hold the siege until the other Legions can arrive."
"So you mean to buy Vincal a little extra time? At the cost of your own life?" Sayra asked.
"If it suffices, yes. I do have a plan that should manage to whittle down their forces, and if you can manage to keep the port open, you can resupply from Lynedale. With the size of this Horde, they could destroy both the First and the Fifth in a set battle, and the orcs appear to more than adequate leadership. In such a case, Vincal would be defenseless, and most likely sacked. By leaving the First to defend the city, and taking the Fifth to harry the orcs, we buy the time we need to even the odds somewhat."
"I still don’t like it, Uncle," Kenric said. (More of Kenric/Sayra mutual supportiveness?)
"I don’t like it much either, but given our choices, it is the best option. We will camp here for the night, the Fifth marches at dawn."
Rhaeden managed to harass the orcs for nearly two weeks, whittling away at their numbers, but seldom taking casualties in return. As the orcs prepared to cross the river Galorin at Tassat, he chose to make a gamble on the frustration he’d wrought in their ranks. (Perhaps expand this section with specific details, which could serve to play up Khael’s involvement?)
Korg was furious with the cowardly humans who kept ambushing his supply parties, and disappearing before he could attack in force. He had doubled his usual scouting force, and the attacks had subsided somewhat, but he could feel the electricity in the air as they approached the last physical obstacle between him and the human capital. He army was very careful in crossing the bridge; he was not going to take any chances of an ambush while his forces were divided. When one of his mounted scouts road hard from the east, he knew that the war would be decided today.
"General! General! The human army has drawn up into battle lines a mile down the road!"
"The terrain?"
"Their flank is secured by a hill on the left, and a stream on their right, but there does not appear to be any other advantage!" the scout reported, excited to have a chance to strike back.
"We should charge!" one of Korg’s lieutenants, known more for his courage than his intelligence, exclaimed.
"This human general is both cautious and tenacious. We will advance, but keep both scouting screens to our flanks..." Korg knew he could not restrain the horde with such a tantalizing target, but it seemed all too easy, and that made him nervous.
The horde advanced eagerly, nearly breaking into a run, but Korg had trained them well, and they managed to contain the zeal and approach the humans in good order. Drawing up his lines across the battlefield, Korg could see that his troops had a substantial advantage in numbers, and the humans had not chosen a field that gave them a significant tactical advantage. If anything, the field favored the orcs, as the humans would have difficulty retreating, with the stream turning behind their line. Korg could just make out the enemy general, astride his horse, behind his army. As eager as his troops to inflict a major defeat on these troublesome humans, he ordered the charge.
Rhaeden merely watched calmly from his horse as the horde charged his position. He prayed that he had made the correct choice, and that his Legion would not be crushed under the tide of orcs. He knew that he would never be able to pick a better battlefield, given that the orcs would never commit on a field that did not appear neutral. He gave a quick final prayer to Random as the front lines engaged.
The orcs charged the human line, legs churning through the damp grass, turning it quickly to a field of mud. The charged up the slight hill, slowing their advance, but not perceptibly. The orcs hit the line like a hammer striking an anvil, but the line did not yield. The humans fought in close order, keeping their large shields together in a wall that the orcs could not penetrate. The orcs pressed hard, and their weight of numbers forced the line back.
From his vantage point behind the lines, Korg could see that the human line was faltering in the center, slowly falling back, though still in good order. He watched as his orcs pressed even harder at the center, forcing it back even further. At first it seemed a sign of impending victory, until he glanced at the flanks. The humans at either end of the line had not retreated, and the orcs they faced were moving closer to the center, to join in the eventual carnage there. As realization of the general’s strategy dawned on him, he roared for his troops.
He turned to look behind him, and sure enough a large force of humans was charging from the rear. Unsheathing his sword, he charged to meet them head on. The humans flowed around him like water, rushing to close the trap on the horde, before they could escape or turn to mount a defense. He swung his sword in great swings, cutting down human warriors like a scythe cuts through grass. The few attempts to attack him resulted in the clash of steel on steel, as his dark blade caught the opposing weapon, shattering it into uselessness. As the bodies of fallen humans begin to pile around him, he strode forward through them, cutting a bloody swath through their ranks. Korg lost himself in the slaughter, being pulled into the fray with a bloodlust unslaked.
The clang of steel woke him from his reverie, as this time his own sword was parried. He looked down at this puny human who had somehow managed to find the strength to stop his carnage. Another small human leaped to attack from the side, but Korg never even glanced his way, as his black blade leaped to eviscerate the attacker. This human before him had his attention, and they began a dance of death amidst the mayhem of the battle.
Other humans tried to impinge on his duel with the knight, but Korg’s sword would have none of it, cutting them down as he had all the others. He could not penetrate the knight’s defenses, even when the remaining humans closed around the now beleaguered horde. The two warriors battled alone on the plain, the furious ringing of steel their accompaniment.
Khael chanted a prayer to Athena as he fought the massive orc, and only her support gave strength to his arms to fight on. Every blow seemed destined to cleave him in twain, and the darkness of the orc’s blade seemed to cry out for his soul.
Korg gave a mighty overhand swing, hoping to bash through whatever reserves of strength his foe might have left, but found that his sword bit deeply into the earth, his enemy apparently vanished. Then he felt the cold steel slide into his chest from the left, piercing his heart. He labored for breath, and managed a few more swings at his opponent, but the wound was fatal. Only Korg’s will and the power of the sword drove him now. A final swing was caught on the human’s blade, and Korg merely gazed into the piercing blue eyes of his enemy as the light left his own.
Khael breathed a sigh of relief as the orc sagged to the ground, whispering a prayer of thanks to Athena for her protection throughout the duel. He looked beyond the limp form at the battle, and realized that Rhaeden’s gamble had indeed paid off. The human dead were many, but the Horde had been shattered. Rhaeden rode up to his friend and aide, his own sword covered in orc blood. He quickly dismounted and eagerly embraced Khael, and Khael returned with what strength he had left.
"A grand victory, indeed, sir," Khael managed to say.
"Aye, Random was with us this day,"
"And Athena as well. Though I fear that this is only the first chapter in a greater conflict to come." Khael walked over to the orc’s fallen sword. Shadows still writhed within the smoked glass-like blade. "This blade has a darkness that touches the soul. I feel we must find out whence it came, or we may face its brethren again." Seeing the determined and haunted look on Khael’s face, Rhaeden could only reply:
"Do as you must, though I will miss you."