Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

“That did not sound like asking to me,” Von Kessel muttered. “On me, everyone.”

Orcs a hundred strong formed a narrowed way for the horses to navigate, Roderick turning his head to regard the creatures. Up close, most of them were large enough he was only eye-level with them even in the saddle. Their green bodies bulged with muscle and vein, leather pants and shorts creaking as the beasts put hands the size of dinner plates on the shafts of weapons. Axes seemed to be their favourite armament, made from sharpened pieces of welded scrap. Rust ate away at their iron, but their edges were sharp as any weapon.

Where the reception in Lyonesse had been one of mild suspicion and arrogance, the orcs watched the humans pass with all the enthusiasm as a fox watching chickens through a wire fence. There was no fence to protect them from these beasts, only the word of a Brettonian and their history with their leader. Roderick had never own orcs to associate themselves with honour, but it was the one thing keeping them from being butchered at this moment.

Their approach took them into the heart of the camp, the roaring bonfire that was the source of the towering smoke column coming into view as they rode by a collection of huts. It was made from a bundle of planks as tall as two men, slightly spiralling as they sat in the pit of a ring of stones, forming the heart of a healthy inferno that could warm even the coldest winter night.

Framed against these flames was the biggest orc of the lot, at least nine feet tall if one didn’t count the jet-black ponytail sprouting from his thick skull. He wore a leather vest studded with iron spikes, covering a chest and belly as thick around as an oak tree. His legs were covered in a baggy sheet of mail, which was fixed by a belt, a silver badge of an orc’s face serving as the clip. There were teeth and skulls hanging from strings, some human, some animals that Roderick did not recognise.

The tribe formed a rough circle of space before the war chief, and the giant orc turned when he heard the clopping of the horse’s hooves. Not unlike the rest of his kin, his features somewhere between man, beast, and elf all rolled into one. From his lower lip jutted a pair of ivory tusks in the shape of sabres, a blazing yellow eye fixing on them above a squat, bat-like nose. The other socket was covered by a patch.

“Well well!” the giant orc boomed, his voice as commanding as his presence. “Little Ed, ain’t this a surprise! You lot usually announce yerselves before poppin’ by, I would have got me boyz to prep ya sum grub.”

“Fine day to you, Morgoroth,” Edouart replied, ever cordial. “My travels today are under a… different kind than usual.”

“Aye, that I can see,” Morgoroth replied, glancing at the Imperials. “Hmm, where’s the old man? Don’t see you apart from him much. Finally grown the stones to kill him, haven’t ya?”

“The answer to that will always be the same, Morgoroth,” Edouart replied, gesturing with a hand. “I’d like you to meet Arnulf Von Kessel, Roderick Erdmann, and their entourage. We are on a quest with my father’s blessings.”

“War Chief,” Von Kessel greeted curtly, Roderick following it with a nod. “I command here, in the name of the Emperor and Sigmar. We are well met.”

“That right?” Morgoroth asked, but he was looking back at Edouart. “Eddy, why’s this knob-head callin’ me Chief? I am Warboss Morgoroth, I’m in charge of all these boyz here, ain’t that right lads?”

“WAAAAAARGH!” the crowd chanted in reply, the mix of hundreds of rough voices making Roderick’s horse scramble. He had to pull the reigns tight lest it throw him.

“As you wish, Warboss,” Von Kessel added, once the orcs had quieted down. “Edouart and his father tell me you are warriors that can be relied upon, and we wish to enlist you to our cause.”

“There’s somethin’ smelly about you’s lot,” Morgoroth wondered. He stepped forward, each pace translating from the earth to Roderick’s body. The warboss sniffed, his squashed nostrils flaring. “Where do I know it from? Ah, tha’s right. These are Imperial ‘umies. What ya doin’ travelling with this lot, Eddy? They’s a long way from home.”

The Brettonian made to reply, but Von Kessel waved him off. “If you must know, orc, we were waylaid in this land, and now we make our journey back to our borders. Our homeland is besieged by enemies, and the way is long and dangerous. The Duke informed me that you can help us on our way.”

“Is your old man makin’ me out as a bleedin’ heart now?” Morgoroth asked, still addressing the Brettonian. “Can’t be havin’ none of that, Morgorath aint’ no charity case, tell your old man to shove that shite up his royal arse. That kind of talk is for ‘umies, or was it gobbos? Who can tell them apart anyhow?”

That got a few snide chuckles from the onlookers, the Captain bristling in his saddle.

“I did not come here to take your insults, orc,” Von Kessel grumbled. “I came to ask for your assistance. Will you give it, or not?”

“Oh, I can give you somethin’ or other,” Morogorth chuckled. “but I’m not sure you’d like it. Helpin’ out these horse lords, now that was one ‘fing, but now I gotta help Imperial gits too? Can’t be havin’ that. I gots to have some of you lot on the wrong side of my axe. ‘Umies put up just the right amount of figthin’ to make it interestin’, ain’t that right boyz?!”

Another orcish cry answered, and this time it wasn’t just the horses that were losing their nerves, Roderick spying some of the handgunners clutching their rifles to their shoulders in preparation.

This was getting out of hand. These orcs were clearly trying to intimidate the men, and whether any of it was empty threats or otherwise, that didn’t matter. Something had to be said or done, or this would all be a waste of time.

Roderick whickered his horse forward, steeling himself as the eyes of all humans and orcs alike turned on him. Instincts born from a dozen battles told him he should at least hold the pommel of his sword when approaching these creatures, but he forced these thoughts aside.

“Warboss,” Roderick began. “Thank you for hearing our offer, we will trouble you no longer. Come, Captain, let us depart.”

Von Kessel looked at him in disbelief, as did Edouart and the others. Roderick gave the barest flick of his head, a silent order to follow his lead. Von Kessel must have seen it, perhaps taking it as a sign that retreat should be done, and hastily.

Yet when the officers turned about, Morgoroth stamped his foot, the resulting quake sending a shiver up Roderick’s spine. “What’s that you said there, ‘umie? ‘Offer’? What offer? All I heard from that git was pleas.”

“Our offer to war, naturally,” Roderick replied, bringing his horse to a stop. “Our Empire is under threat of the forces of Chaos, and we are marching to rid them from our lands.”

“And what’s that got to do with me and my boyz?” Morgorth asked. “If anyfing, sounds like a good deal for us. You umies sit behind your walls the moment any fightin’ starts, and sieges drive me mad with boredom.”

“Ah, forgive me,” Roderick said, putting on a coy tone. “I was under the impression that Warboss Morgoroth feared no battle, but if you’d rather stay here and hunt vampires…”

“I could hunt you, ya git,” Morgoroth snarled. It was the first time since entering the camp that the orc was really addressing them, and not just directing most of his attention to Edouart. “My boyz surround your boyz, I could flick me hand, and you’d all be chopped to itty-bitty pieces. It’d be a sinch.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Roderick replied. “Half of us would be dead before we could even raise our arms against you, and in such close-quarters, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Roderick!” Von Kessel hissed. “What are you doing? Be silent, I order you!”

He ignored the Captain. “But where would be the fun in that? We couldn’t hope to put up a fight. Chaos on the other hand, now there’s an enemy that cannot be taken lightly. Where we go, they will be thousands strong, enough to outnumber your poultry tribe three to one.”

“You hear that, boyz?” Morgoroth yelled. “He calls our Warrrgh poultry! I should take your teeth and wear them on my belt for that.”

The warboss turned and plucked a giant axe from one of the nearby orcs, the rest of the greenskin’s chanting his name as he stepped forward in a challenge. Roderick swallowed his fear, turning his skittish horse about and brandishing his greatsword in one smooth movement.

“If you want a fight, Morgoroth, you’ll have it,” Roderick said. “But I warn you, we’ll put up more of a fight than any vampire. You said as much yourself.”

Morgoroth’s followers drew their weapons with chinks of steel, while the Imperial officers braced their guns, and the Brettonian knights clutched their bridles. For a moment, it seemed there was to be slaughter, even the orcs had gone silent preparation.

Then, the warboss threw back his head, and released a hearty laugh to the sky. “Where’s your wheelbarrow, ‘umie?” he asked. “Cause you must have stones bigger than your head!”

The rest of the orcs added their rough voices to his, and with that the tension seemed to bleed away. The Warboss tossed his axe back to the one he’d taken it from. “Now what’s this about Chaos’boyz?” Morgoroth asked. “Whadda they plannin’?”

“They’re trying to take one of the Empire’s cities, and we are going to stop them,” Roderick said. “They will have thousands of infantry, war beasts, siege engines, we’ll take them all on, and there will be honour for us, and glory for you and your… boyz.”

The warboss scratched his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I like the way this one talks,” someone said, but it wasn’t Morgoroth.

From behind the warboss, an orc came forward, but he was far different from the others. No, not a he, but a she. While she possessed the tusks and the bat-like nose, her features were more streamlined compared to her orcish brothers, more familiar. A rolling stream of brown hair flowed out from her head, unkempt and long enough to reach past her shoulders, a pair of long point ears like an elf poking out from either side.

She was not as large as Morgoroth or even some of the less orcs, but standing at over eight feet, she towered over Roderick even at this distance, and her arms and legs were near twice the size of any human limb. Her skin was a deeper shade of green than the rest, dissolving into a lighter beige as it reached her chest and belly. Despite her shorter stature, her frame was built to crush rocks, her muscles thighs and tones muscles shifting beneath her smoothed olive-green skin.

Her clothing consisted of a padded leather vest, fingerless gloves, and a set of black pants that seemed painted onto her, so tight that they creaked with each of her long strides. She came to a halt beside Morgoroth, glancing up at the towering warboss.

“He’s got guts, this one. Ain’t that right, little brother?” she asked. Her voice was deep, inflected with a strange accent he’d never heard before.

“Aye, lil’ sis,” Morgoroth answered. “But has he got guts for fightin’, or is he just squeelin’, like a tuskless boar?”

“Pr’haps,” she replied, giving Roderick a look. “Pr’haps not. We’ll see soon enough. Shall I get the boyz ready?”

“Aye, lil’ sis, we’ve sat on our arses long enough, orcs are meant for fightin’ not chinwaggin’ and getting’ fat off meat and sleep.”

“You heard the boss!” the she-orc barked, the sudden rise in her voice startling some of the other greenskins. “Strip down the tents, prepare the squigs, get the gobbo’s off their lazy arses, we’s movin’ out! WARRRGH!”

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