The night was clear, but the moon was at its lowest point, so only keen eyes could penetrate the darkness of the wood as Seraile passed through it, like a shadow, his foot landing hitting the ground, making as much noise as if on a bed of feathers, his body melting into the darkness around it, the stench he could smell was unbearable, the sulphurous sweet smell of rotting flesh, and there he saw it, a hulking figure, taller than a man, its muscles knotted beneath its dark skin, it’s hair hanging around it’s wide shoulder in greasy knots, a large cruel barbed blade by its side, an Uruk, a breed of orc deadlier than all others.
Seraile raised his arm and a very feint twang of force getting released off a spring and a heavy thumb as the blade embedded itself in the back of the Uruk’s head Seraile walked over and tore it out, cleaning the blood and gore off it, and finally replacing it in a narrow contraption on his forearm and hiding it under his leather gauntlet. He pressed on, finally hearing a babble of rough, guttural voices speaking in the raw tongue of orcs, as Seraile beheld a standard he frowned, then looked back at the slain Uruk, and seeing the same symbol stamped on its back, a white hand.
Sitting on the edge of camp he waited, until a particularly large Uruk walked out of a tent near the centre, he was larger than the others and looked more brutal and violent, no such thing should exist thought Seraile, looking at the beast, he reached for his sword, Durmegil, then gasped feeling a hand on his shoulder, twisting around, drawing his dagger faster than the eye could follow he held it up to the familiar for of a tall, dark haired man dressed in neat leather armour and a dark hood, Seraile smiled wryly, “Good to see you Melson” he said in a low voice, “you forgot your protective armour…” Melson said with a slight grumble, “Knew there was something” Seraile muttered, “Your going to get yourself killed one of these-…” Melson said, looking down in the camp, then his voice getting drowned out when a large clamour seemed to come from the entrance of the camp, a column of orcs marching in, about twenty, holding many items, mainly loot, but Seraile saw something that made his stomach clench in a cold, hard knot, three people, a middle aged man with brown hair, a woman, supposedly his wife, and a boy, that looked about eleven winters old.
Seraile clenched his jaw, then reached for the small crossbow hidden under his cloak, drawing the string and fitting a cruel looking bolt into it, he aimed very carefully at the Uruk in the camp. Melson glances down at him, crouching, watching the action down below. Seraile finalised his aim and shot, it was true, it hit the Uruk in the temple, killing it instantly, the column of orcs, now just outside the ring in the centre of the camp, panicked and started shouting, looking around, the family was dropped on the floor and they all drew their cruel weapons, Seraile drew his own, Durmegil in one hand, and Gurth Sigil in his other, he jumped down the ledge, in middle of the camp, Melson following his, with his own sword in hand, Seraile looked up at the orcs, they seemed dumbfounded to see him there, his glimmering sword and dagger in his hands, glittering savagely in the fire light, they began to laugh and started walking towards Seraile and Melson, brandishing their weapons.
Seraile looked at them “There’s plenty for the both of us Melson.” Grinning Melson replied “May the best man win.” And so, Seraile raised his left hand, a blade flew out of the bottom of his gauntlet, hitting the closest orc in the forehead, then walking forward, began swinging his weapons in the heated frenzy of battle, hacking anything that got in his way, soon his sword and dagger were coated in dark blood as six orcs lay about him dead, he reaches to his side, taking out three blades polished to a mirror shine and throwing them to a knot of orcs around Melson, three of them falling never to rise again, “Ten!” Seraile announced, shouting to Melson, his reply being “Five!” grinning Seraile stabbed an orc in the stomach with his dagger, lifted him off the ground and threw him down, driving his sword into its skull, turning around he slashed in a wide arc, cutting an orc in the chest, he then cut its shoulders open and finally stabbed it in the chest, as he whirled round an explosion of pain came from his leg, the orc standing before him roared, the tip of his blade tainted with blood, Seraile slashed diagonally, cutting the orc clean in half from left shoulder to right hip, the force of his blow burning up the rage from the moment of distraction that got his leg cut. He stood there, his sword and dagger ready for a blow, but all was silent, the band of orcs lay around him and Melson.
“I Win” grunted Seraile, Melson chuckled “A good win at that too” Seraile looks around, eyes stopping on the family, lying next to the growing pool of blood, “come on, Let’s get us and them out of here… this is just an outpost, more orcs could be on their way.” They carries the family outside the entrance to the camp and then piled the bodies of the orcs in the centre, grabbed a burning log from the fire each and set fire to the tents, the pile of bodies and the rough wooden wall surrounding the camp, disappearing in the darkness with the family on their shoulders.
