Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words. Sorry for the long delay, I've been unhappy with a few scenes, including this one , and have been redrafting them for wayyy too long.

***

“WAAAAAAARGH!” the tribe chanted, stamping their weapons and feet in rhythm, giving their chant a thunderous undertone.

Roderick released a strenuous sigh, then returned to his horse. The men were glancing at him with silent, awed expressions. All save for Von Kessel, who had eyes only for the warboss. It was Edouart who voiced their curiosity.

“I’ve never seen someone turn an orc off his path like that,” the knight mused. “Once they’ve set their mind on something, they are stubborn creatures. How did you know your bluff would work?”

“I simply did as you suggested,” Roderick replied. “Orc’s only recognise strength, even if it’s just an image. Long as we keep up appearances, we needn’t worry about them.”

“War is fought with steel, but you have a tongue of silver,” Edouart said, giving him a grateful nod. “Perhaps we should find an ogre camp, I’d wager you could convince them to eat each other.”

Von Kessel jostled his reigns, the sound of his horse turning interrupting them.

“We should depart,” the Captain said. “I’ve had enough of orcs for one day.”

As the men and horses turned face, a guttural voice rose up from behind them.

“Oi! ‘Umies!” It was Morgoroth, his long strides bringing him straight to their side in a handful of paces. The horses tried to shy away. “Where you’s off ta?”

“To our camp, of course,” Von Kessel replied. “We are set up beyond that hill over there, get your band to meet ours when you are ready to march.”

“One thing you’s gotta know about orcs is that we never march on an empty stomach. My boyz will be feastin’ to this new Warrrgh of ours. Why don’t ya join us, eh?”

“We should really be getting on,” Von Kessel muttered. “Every minute we waste is another minute the Empire suffers.”

“I’m about to suffer if I don’t get some grub in me” Morgoroth said, patting his giant stomach with an equally giant hand. “Come on, ‘umie, you can’t expect ta fight with someone you aint’ even gonna share a feast with.”

“Morgoroth makes a good drumstick,” Edouart added. “And there’ll be no lack of a meal for us – orc provisions are four times the size of ours.”

“Very well,” Von Kessel conceded. “We’ve marched enough for today.”

“Well come on then!” Morgoroth urged, gesturing for the men to dismount. “Leave ye horses, unless ye want to bring them to the feast, haha!”

They followed the warboss round the bonfire, its heat baking the right side of Roderick’s body. Here the ground had been cleared away, a rectangular gap of space opening up between the huts. Two long trenches cut across the space longways, shielded by stones two stacks high, and within them rose the lick of flames. Suspended above were wooden splints arranged into hanging racks, where a hundred silver hooks hung suspended, pierced into hunks of dangling meat.

Groups of orcs were tending to flames and flesh alike, tossing coals and butchering large carcasses into smaller chunks. There was even a spit with a board impaled through its mouth and rump by a spear, an orc attendant cranking it in a slow spin so it roasted evenly. Morgoroth encouraged the humans to sit with him by the head of one of the hearths, a few flimsy rags serving as cushioning between them and the ground. Roderick found himself sitting with Kessel, Edouart and Morgoroth on his side, while the officers and the handgunners took the other.

The warboss reached up, and plucked a red chunk of sizzling meat off the rack with his bare hand. It was as big as Roderick’s head, with skin bordering on black, the orc turning and thrusting it into Von Kessel’s hands.

The Captain reeled as though punched, oil dripping from his fingers as he held the meat before him.

“’Ere, stick that up ya gob and tell me you ain’t too proud for a feast,” Morgoroth chuckled. “I’m pretty sure this ain’t the ‘umie rack.”

“The what?” Von Kessel asked.

“You still haven’t adopted knives and forks, I presume?” Edouart said, reaching up to cut away a smaller portion from another hanging roast.

“Did he say human rack?” Von Kessel asked.

Morgoroth chuckled. “Gods curse yer cutleries, Eddy, everythin’ works best when you do it with yer own two hands. Like killin’!”

There was a hunk of what seamed like pork on a hook a little higher than the others, about as rare as one could get when hanging above a firepit. As Roderick reached for it, however, Morgoroth laid a great green hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Allow me, mate,” the warboss said, plucking the cut from the hook. “Roderick, weren’t it? Here – a choice cut for a choice ‘umie. May we follow ya into a thousand battles! WAAARGH!”

“Our strategy is to draw the least amount of attention as possible,” Von Kessel chided, once the nearby orcs who’d echoed the chant died down. “We must reach Marienburg at our fullest strength, if we are to have any chance of defeating the enemy.”

“Wha-? Orcs are made to draw attention, Kessel. We ain’t the types to scurry about like you ‘umies do, war makes us and we make war. Don’t ya know that?”

“I know that you die just like anyone else, greenskin. The dozens of orc warship’s I’ve sunk can attest to that.”

“Oh, you one of them nautical types, ain’t ya? No wonder I could smell salt when I first met ya, I thought those were just tears, haha!”

Von Kessel was about to retaliate, but Edouart chipped in first. “Come now, gentlemen, we’re trying to have a feast here, not an argument.”

“Bah, sod off Eddy,” Morgoroth said, but his tone was light-hearted. “The ‘umie really had me goin’ there with his banter, I was just startin’ to like him. Take note of yer pal Roderick here,” he added, slapping Roderick on the back so hard he nearly choked on his meal. “He can yap the yap, can’t ya?”

Gradually, more orcs came to join in the feasting, gathering by the fire a few feet down the hearth. Once the initial wariness had worn down, and it was clear there would be no hostilities this day, the rest of the men began to take part, sharing meat and conversation with each other. Everyone was careful to stick together, however, and it was only Morgoroth they tolerated, despite him being the most dangerous orc in the camp.

Edouart and Morgoroth had history, that much was obvious, but only now did the orc began to fill him in on details. Vampiric armies had been slowly increasing in number as they came in from the lands of Bastone and Bordeleaux, and the most recent intrusion had been a little over a month back. “There runts broke easily ‘nuff under my boys, but that Lord of there, what was his name, Eddy?”

“Count Solrin,” Edouart replied.

“That’s right, Solrin, at least he put up a bit of a fight, after we chopped our way through thousands of his little puppets. We’s cut him off over the Taureburg river while he was crossin’, ploughed his armies right in half we did. Eddy wanted to charge in early, and if we had we might not be here today.”

“You were more impatient than an orc?” Roderick asked with a chuckle.

“It’s true,” Edouart conceded. “I saw an opportunity that wasn’t there, but Morgoroth proved me wrong. His vanguard smashed the undead lines apart in less than a minute, his shock tactics hit almost as hard as a knight’s lance. Almost,” he reiterated.

“After we put Solrin’s head on a spike, we got lazy,” Morogorth continued. “Eddy went back to his old man, the vamps retreated back south, and we’s had nothin to do but sit on our hands and eat and sleep since. But now,” he growled, slapping a hand into a fist. “Now we’s can get back to smashin’ heads in.”

“Have either of you fought against Chaos before?” Roderick asked, taking a hearty bite of his meal.

“Some of the elder orcs spoke about seein’ them some time or other,” Morgoroth replied. “I’ve always wanted me one of their helmets. Those Khorne warrior types, with the big daemon antlers on top. That’d look good on me noggin, wouldn’t ya say?”

“That’s a no, then.” Roderick turned to Edouart. “What of you?”

“No,” Edouart admitted. “Like you told my father, the Empire acts as a buffer between us and the Deep North, they have little reason to come so far down the continent.”

“Then you’ll both be in for an experience. If you’ll think they’ll be anything like hunting vampires, banish the thought. Chaos warriors no less fear than the undead do, and they are commanded by powerful deamon lords that would make a Vampire Count look tame in comparison.”

“You’re a ‘umie after me own heart,” Morgoroth said. “I’ve got enough bat skulls under me belt already, ‘bout time I started branches out me horizons. How many of these Chaos boyz are on ya little city?”

“Thousands, tens of thousands, the reports are sketchy at best,” Roderick replied. “We’ll found out once we arrive at the border, perhaps sooner if we can get some scouting done ahead of time. Maybe we’ll even find out who commands them…”

“You sound as though you know some of these creatures by heart,” Edouart pointed out.

“When you live in the Empire long enough, you become familiar with Chaos Lords. If we can take them by surprise, this will be a good chance to bring down one of them, or at least one of their Lieutenants.”

“And take his helmet for my collection!” Morgoroth cheered. “Where’s the grog?” he demanded to no one in particular. “All this chinwaggin’ is makin’ me thirsty.”

After a small delay, a group of goblins rushed over to their part of the fire, four of them lugging a barrel between them. They set it down nearby, one of them placing a giant mug beneath a tap that had been hammered into the barrel’s base, a thick stream of creamy liquid spilling out.

A second goblin snatched up the ale once it was full, and hurried to pass it to the warboss. The mug looked normal in his hand, but when another was given to Edouart, the mug was as big as a pitcher and just as deep. Looking round the camp, Roderick saw that more bands of goblin servants were passing out drinks to the hungry orcs, the might greenskins filling the air with their guttural laughter and cheering. To Roderick, these goblins bore an uncanny resemblance to slaves, but perhaps now wasn’t the best time to comment on it...

Von Kessel took his offered drink, but he looked about ready to be done with the feast, even though he hadn’t eaten anything, nor had taken a sip of his grog. Roderick could sympathise, these orcs were rowdy and they were so giant that it would only take one misstep for their to be an accident, but if they wanted allies, the least they could do was grace their hospitality.

Something nudged him from behind, and he turned to see a green hand holding a giant cup towards his face. “No, thank you,” he said.

“What’s the matter, human? You can handle a warboss, but you can’t handle a little moonshine?”

That didn’t sound like what he’d expect a goblin’s voice to be. In fact, something about it was familiar. Roderick looked up, and met a pair of yellow eyes that towered over him. It was the her, the she-orc, her spinach-green skin turning gold in the wavering firelight.

“Oh, it’s you. Greetings,” Roderick began. “You’re Morgoroth’s… sister, right?”

“Big sister, aye,” the orc said. She apparently decided the next to him would be her seat, the giantess crossing her muscular legs and landing on her rump in a way that would make Brettonian Ladies scoff in disappointment. At around eight feet tall, she had to incline her head a little to meet his gaze, so massive that she rivalled his warhorse in terms of muscle mass.