Hame watched toward the hills and trees, with a foot planted upon a large stone, his hands to his side, resting upon the hilt of his sword. A dozen men of the Greenway Guard surrounded him in a sort of crescent, their eyes fixed in the direction of the town they have lost. The Tarkrips that occupied the town were especially loud tonight, their drums rolling and their throats roaring, plums of smoke and fire rose in the darkening night, a surreal beauty ruined by the wafting smell of burning flesh.
The Kingsfell camp was more organized, as the Guard and Gatson tried to keep the folk calm, the food distributed. The Hunters hunted boar, and rabbit. The meat of the rabbit was stewed, while the boar roasted, bringing smiles to the folk who have long stained their cheeks with tears, or supped too long on bread and biscuits.
CRACK.
The sound of a piece of wood snapping filled the air, and soon after the a black tide descended from the burning town. The men readied themselves, lifting their shields, and let their swords glisten in the fading light, as the orcs passed by, snarling, and looking at them with longing. Some of them sported heads upon their spears, cackling madly as they slipped by.
As the last of them slipped on by, Hame turned to look at his men, who seemed relieved that they didn't have a fight. "Get Gatson, and Ulford here. I want to take them to Stoneheight. The Orcs abandoned it, and I will have them, with me to see what awaits us." he said, stern. The Guard dispersed to find Gatson and Ulford..
"Roight, Waithboy, whatcha' want?" asked Ulford. He was the lead Huntsman, a burly, large man, but quiet upon his feet. Gatson glared at the hunter, a sword clenched in his calloused fist, "What'd you want, Captain?" he asked, digging the point of his sword into the dirt. Hame looked between the two, "Were going to Stoneheight."
The smell of rotted and charred flesh grew thicker, once we passed the gate. What was inside brought cruel memory of what was lost. Gatson sank to his knees as he beheld the street lined with corpses, the burning buildings, and much else..
The dead were crudely displayed, strewn upon the streets we once walked in peace, and laughter.
The memory of that night suddenly flared, hidden underneath the veil of confidence...
I rushed out of the Northern barracks, a score of Guards at my back with the rest buckling on armour and readying themselves for battle. Flames flared up, though houses stood in our path to see what was happening. Sounds of roars and growls, clashing blades, cries of hurt and slaughter filled the night air. A few of my men seemed afraid as we weaved down the street, crossing the corner, only nearly to be trampled by frenzied townsmen, and behind them a crashing wave of orcs. "Damn it..Fall back to the square, to the square!" I roared, falling back with my men. Straggling guards formed up, as the townsfolk struggled to open one of the gates. Me and my men held fast, with archers ready upon the tower, a dozen of them. Orcs spilled into the square, crashing against our shieldwall, their sheer weight throwing us back as our wall broke beneath their ferocity. My sword swung left and right, hewing at the necks of orc, and the point buried in the belly of another. And orc swung his mace, striking me upon the head, though an archers arrow struck his gullet before he finished me off. Their stench. The smell alone was enough to make one recoil. Half of my men were killed, and townsmen clawed at the gate, as me and a line of guards were shoved to the side, fighting for our lives, the folk getting spears in their back, or chopped down while we watched with fearful, and guilty eyes. The fight was fading. Five of us, against fifty orcs that occupied the square...Until Plowman came in with the rest of the barracks to shift the tide. He struck hard at their flank, his men roaring and carving their way through. The orcs here routed, running off in other directions. Sweat streamed down my face, as I have stared at the face of death, and watched Plowman roaring in my ear. I did not hear a word he said, but I pushed myself off the wall, blinking hard.
The thought of us losing the town still struck hard in his heart...What hurt worse was the knowledge of how the old were treated, and the folk that remained. How the orphans were...Tears streamed down Hames cheeks, as he walked into the courtyard were he fought, the dead aplenty...No, we can not return here. So much death. Too much death..
We turned our backs upon the town, leaving it behind to return to Gatsons farm. Neither of them spoke a word of what they saw, as they went about their duty.
