"Hraegh.. look at this, Ugnash.. stuck a horse with my knife when it was stuck in the mud. Got good grub for once.", an orc snarled out a laugh as he and a broad orc dragged the dead mare into the orkish campsite.
"Good! This will keep us off maggoty bread for a few nights, huehue..", Ugnash, a large black-skinned orc, run his grey tongue over yellowed teeth as he grabbed at the meal just waiting to be eaten.
"Get your grubby paws off my food! I stuck him, I get first picks!", the shorter orc squawked out as jumping out at Ugnash, orange finger-nails digging into the dark skin.
Soon enough, a quarrel broke out among the group of four orcs, each digging their fingers into the horses hide and pulling, shouting, "It's mine!! Get your own horse!". This was enough to gain the attention of anything nearby, let alone a hunting Eorling.
Stalking through the long grass, his golden hair trailing down his shoulders as his broad arms pushed aside the stalks. He crouched low, though the light of his helm still glistened in the moonlight and his breath arose like smoke in the cold autumn air. His large boots stepped carefully with his armor chinking with each heavy step, the sheathed sword at his hip hitting against him underneath the dirty cloak.
The firelight and the shouting had gained his attention whilst he was out making sure his latest camping grounds was safe, especially for his companion, Mildraed of Gapholt. He scrambled up the side of a small bank and lay down upon his stomach, removing his helm to peer through the darkness at the scrapping silhouettes.
A good time to strike.
One of the orcs had tumbled onto his back, clutching his scarred grubby arms around the carcass neck, holding on for dear life as Ugnash pulled upon the back legs. The sooty blood-stained armor was creaking as the gut of the orc tried to escape. A crashing came from the grass nearby, and out charged the huge Eorling with the tail of his helm flowing behind him with his hair. His bearded jaw was clenched as he strode forth quickly, fingers gripping around the handle of the large hammer in his right hand as he swung it into the breast plate of Ugnash with a sound like a smith at work.
"Aiii!! Get the horse-man!!", Ugnash wheezed out on his back, his bloody hand resting on the dent in the metal.
Two orcs let go of the horse, gathering their crude clubs and swords though one stayed with his teeth digging into the flesh, eating whilst the others were distracted. One swung his blade high, though it was stopped mid air by the hammer of Torwiga as his own sword thrust forth, tearing the leather jerkin and piercing the skin and letting black blood trickle as the orc reeled back. The second now stepped forth, club swinging and hitting into the armor of the Champion.
"You orkish bastards!", Torwiga boomed out as his hammer juts up into the chin of the club-wielder before the nose-guard of the plumed helm followed through to knock the orc to the ground on top of the horse. A sword stroke to the neck soon ended this one, putting more weight on top of the feasting creature underneath the mare's corpse who gasped for breath.
Ugnash now stood up, grabbing his large jagged axe and bringing it down. A quick step to the side, clipping the cloak of the Eorling and tearing it from his back. Up with the axe, and again another near miss. Blood rage had come upon Ugnash, and he swung wildly without looking where. He neared the roaring fire before Torwiga squared up against him, feeling the grimy sweat on it's skin rub against his biceps through the cloth protection of his mail vest.
The bleeding orc decided to join, pushing into the back of Ugnash and causing Torwiga to lose his ground against them, boots digging desperately for grip as he pushed forth. With one swift movement, his hammer struck Ugnash in the knee before his sword pushed through one neck and into the other. Both gasped their lasts breath, before falling down in a pool of black blood.
Moving the cloth of his cloak along his blade cleaned the sticky liquid from the metal, sheathing sword and hanging his hammer on his belt. He dragged each dead orc, one by one, on top of the horse that kept one orc pinned underneath, screaming and begging his curses and pleas. Though, it was not enough to let the Eorling spare his life, nothing an orc could say would ever make him spare an abominations life.
"Hrm.. melted fats, eh? Good for burning.", an amused grimace came to his lips as he looked to the orc pile, taking off the cap of the hide flask and pouring it on top. He unclasped his helm, taking it under his arm as he reached into the fire with his thick leather gloves to pull out a burning log, throwing it onto the pile of the dead, or near dead to let them burn.
Once again he stalked through the long grass, though he walked with pride and with long strides as he made towards his own camp, moving silent again as the tents came into view. Through the open flap of one of them, he could see the curled up figure of the woman whom he was journeying with, reaching in with his black-blood stained hand to pull it down to keep her warm before settling down in his own bedroll, outside by the fire.
