Ongbúrz

Once they arrived at Esteldin, the rain had stopped and the morning sun was shining through the grey clouds. The rangers trudged up the muddy path to the hidden stronghold, dragging the heavy bound orc with them.

Ivorneth fired at the crowd of orcs, moving with the other two archers to find better positions as the fight swirled. They aimed carefully, not wanting to hit one of their own men.

The sun rose, burning through the morning mist that would gather in the lower lying areas of the rolling hills of the small farm. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Hollace looked towards the east, where he thought he saw the glow of flames in the darkness last night.

It was the scout, Elur, who spotted the movement from the hills, a large mass of Orcs heading at a brisk pace from the north. It was his sharp eyes that could see the black billowing smoke against the dark sky, blotting out some of the starlight in the west.

Taskmaster Fulzog of Gurzum looked out over the empty outpost. The fighters have left and he was left behind with the second grade wimps to defend the camp. It was of little matter to the old orc though as after today, he and his tribe would become legends in the songs and tales of all orc-kind.