Orc's Drift - The Grand Finale

[Thantsants]

Thanks Blacksmith - this next instalment should take us past the bloated Ben Hur style 3 hour mark! 

"Sir, the Orcs have reached the East wall - our archers need reinforcing. There's more of them approaching from the North!"

Brommedir looked coolly at Aydendorn before giving his measured response,

"It is only a feint, dear boy. I anticipate the main attack to fall upon Chardz's Engineers at the North entrance. I trust he has suitably fortified his position and it is secure. We shall remain here. We have the hospital at our back and command the compound from our redoubt."

Aydendorn looked dubiously at the flames that were now hungrily devouring the hospital's roof. Ominous creaks and groans warned of the timber supports approaching their breaking point.

Brommedir went on,

"Besides, our comrades have been ordered to fallback on my signal. Our piper knows the call..."

The two Elves looked round for their regimental musician as slowly the realisation dawned...

From the East wall came a strangled and desperate whistling and just over the roar of the Orcish battle cry came a faint,

"Spit boy, spit!"

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The Orc charge crashed home and yet the Elves stood firm and gave them one last volley before drawing swords. In the confusion of combat neither side managed to land a telling blow but the weight of Orc numbers forced the Elves back from the wall. Backed into a corner with the burning hospital behind them, the Elves made ready to sell their lives dearly.

 

The sappers had finished preparing the defensive ditches, and as no archers came streaming back from the outer wall as expected they happily hunkered down there, hefting their picks and mattocks in readiness.

 

Chardz had been contemplating their position. Unhappy that the mealie bag wall they had thrown up was sufficient, he ordered his sappers back to also dig ditches in front of the redoubt and the waiting Elf archers.

 

With the renewed strength lent to them by desperation, the Elves fought back against the Kwae Karr who had broken through. One Orc fell to their assault, the others unable to penetrate the wall of blades put up by the archers.

 

Much was the cursing and swearing that darkened the air above Snart. Despite having the horse and ox under his magical control, it was still a struggle to coax them around to the right direction. Eventually the small party looked as though it were ready to leave and not a moment too soon.

 

The perilous sounding creaks issuing from the stricken hospital began to grow and crescendo. With a great crash the entire structure folded in on itself, sending out great clouds of sparks, ash and smoke. The Kwae Karr archers, who had just peppered it with another volley of flaming arrows, whooped with joy at the destruction they had caused. Bagrash also smiled, as he rubbed his smoking finger having unleashed another fireball in the same direction.
 
 

The call was echoed by the rest of the Orc horde as it continued to lap around the walls of Orc's Drift in hungry waves.

 

The Vile Rune Orcs edged further forward, threatening Chardz's now unprotected outer wall.

 

While Grashak Kra's hounds leapt the barricade and made for the Dwarfs busily digging beyond it, closely followed by the long-legged and, by now, completely ravenous Guthrum Mane!

 

Magyar laid about him in a terrible rage, incensed at the Elves rebuff to his charge. One of the archers fell to his onslaught and a few of his Orc warriors got a good cuffing for their lacklustre efforts. They were over the wall, but found themselves locked in a fight to the death - even if the Elves had had somewhere to run, they weren't going to.

 

Bagrash looked on at his handiwork and let out a cry of exultation. The archers had some small part to play in the destruction of the hospital, but it was he, Bagrash the Scabrous, who had brought the Elves' stronghold down around their pointy little ears.

Still feeling power coursing through his very being, Bagrash stepped forward looking for his next victim. Of course there was one small bit of him that wasn't throbbing with sorcerous might. The shaman paused to reach down under his loin cloth for a good scratch.

None of his preparations had worked, and he , as educated as he was for an Orc, was running out of letters of the alphabet for each new and improved version. "H" had been the last preparation he had tried to no avail. 

Bagrash withdrew his hand and sniffed at his finger, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Then the idea struck him. He looked again at his extended finger and then over to smoking remains of the hospital. His eyes flickered back and forth between finger and charred ruins, mulling the pros and cons of his daring new plan. Finally the old Orc's gaze came to rest on his offending appendage...

[Thantsants]

  As blackened support beams and scorched fragments of daub rained down upon them, Elf and Dwarf alike dived for cover.

 

 As the dust settled, discipline reasserted itself and archer and sapper once more stood thigh to shoulder.The Dwarf's guarded the approach from the North in their trench and Brommedir split  his detachment to provide all round defence.

 

Snart's rescue mission entered its final phase, led by the carts departing with their broken cargoes. Following behind and trying not to notice the substantial gaps they had left in the outer defense wall were the walking wounded. Bertolac and Fernbreth limped doggedly onwards, as did Beli and Gymlet, each doing their utmost to drag along a stretcher bearing a fallen comrade.

 

Brommedir, perhaps thanks to his deafness, was a little less shaken than his bowmen. Surveying the scene of devastation, he caught sight of the two Hobhounds bounding over the outer wall, straight for the Dwarf sappers, now ensconced in their trench.

"Look to your front. Mark your target when it comes. Fire!"

His well-trained bowmen weren't far behind their commander and a deadly storm of arrows stopped the slavering hounds in their tracks.

 

 
Things weren't quite so rosy for the archers embroiled in the bloody struggle on the outer wall. Orc after Orc clambered over the mealie bags, slowly encircling the hard pressed Elves. One more fell to the onslaught, taking an Orc with him.

 

With the clash of steel and the cries of the dying ringing in their ears, Druid Snart and his party finally made good their escape.

 

The mob swelled, a multitude of savage faces leered out at them. Crude Orcish blades jabbed and thrust at them seemingly from all angles and one by one they succumbed. One young Elf, on the point of breaking under the strain cried out.

"He was right, the Druid was right! Why are we here? We're doo..."

Catching up the standard that fell from the archer's lifeless hands, the last survivor growled,

"Because we're here lad, because we're here."

Sarjen Bouwern lifted the proud banner, resplendent in scarlet and silver, and brandished it in defiance to the green throng that pressed in on all sides...



With the destruction of the Elf defenders on the East wall, Magyar Ironfist let out a great howl of triumph. The call was picked up in turn until it spread through much of the Orc horde, reaching an ear splitting climax. Then silence. Slowly a rhythmic clashing began to grow as Orc after Orc rapped weapon against shield. The remaining Elves and Dwarfs shifted uneasily in their positions as the terrible rhythm increased in speed and volume. As it reached fever pitch, there came another great cry and the green tide rushed in.

 

The Orcs charged on all fronts! Ozrim and his engineers felt the ground literally quake as Guthrum Mane thundered into them, closely followed by Grashak Kra, berserk with rage at the demise of his hounds. For one of the Dwarfs, the trench he had dug became his grave, smashed by the enormous glaive wielded by the giant.

 

The sappers at the main entrance came under increased pressure as the second unit of Kwae Karr Orcs charged in. Despite the weight of numbers against them, the Dwarfs were well protected by their trench.

 

Magyar's victorious Orcs pressed on through the smoldering ruins of the hospital, charging into Brommedir's small detachment. The Elves, with typical discipline, stood firm and snapped off a quick volley at their attackers. Somehow the Orcs came through it unscathed.
 


Behind them the Severed Hand Orcs jumped the barricade unopposed and began working their way round the melee to try and outflank the redoubt. The F'yar Guard had a similar plan, working their way round the now undefended outer wall.
 
 

As the other detachment of archers dashed over to join their comrades, one Elf fell to a well placed thrust from an Orc sword. Buoyed up by the reinforcements, the archers fought back dispatching one of the brutal creatures.

 

The desperate struggle between the Hill giant and Chardz' sappers ground on. Guthrum Mane's ill coordinated attacks were easy enough to dodge in the trench, yet the Dwarf's couldn't land a penetrating blow on their tough adversary. That is until Guthrum, mad with hunger and frustration, jabbed down into the ditch, skewering two unfortunate engineers.

 

The Severed Hand Orcs joined the fray, charging the Dwarf sappers who stood in their way. One Dwarf fell to their great axes for the loss of two Orc warriors. Sneaking slyly up behind, the F'yar Guard continued their flanking move.

 

Calling out encouragement to their Hill giant, the Vile Rune Orcs edged forward, waiting eagerly for a gap to appear in the defences to exploit.

 

The situation was desperate. The compound was rapidly filling with Orcs as they poured in over the uncontested outer walls. The defenders found themselves beset on all sides, hemmed into their central redoubt by the screaming mob. The air was rent with the clamour of battle and the cries of the wounded. Over all this came the voice of the new Orc King,

"Who dares face me, Magyar Ironfist, King Killer, Crusher of the North and Scourge of Ramalia?"

Aydendorn nudged his commander furiously, lest it be him who was mistaken for the Grand League's Champion,

"I think he means you sir!"

"Eh, what's that? Can't you see I'm a bit busy..."

Before they lost any more face in delaying answering the challenge, Aydendorn took matters into his own hands. With absolutely no thought for his own safety, he span the unsuspecting Brommedir round and bravely propelled him towards the waiting Orc.

Losing his footing as he stumbled forward, Brommedir found himself hurtling straight towards an enormous and very angry looking Chieftain. Unable to stop himself, the hapless Elf blundered straight into his adversary, silver helm connecting with Orc skull.

Not exactly expecting his challenge to be met in such a manner, Magyar staggered back in surprise. Brommedir had no problems hearing the great Orc's snarl of anger. The tumult around them seemed to fade away as they circled each other warily, looking for a chink in the other's guard...

 



Well almost done. I've got some family stuff on this weekend so the climactic last episode will have to wait till next week.

Don't worry though - its pure Hollywood! 

[DeafNala]

There's nothing like a good cliff hanger...unless you're the one hanging. GREAT REPORT & WONDERFUL PHOTOS...is it Monday yet?

[tomogui]

Sniff... I'm very much looking forward to the denouement, but I also don't want it to ever end.

[B. Basiliscus]

Good stuff, good stuff!
This wait is going to be hell on all of us. 

[FramFramson]

Things do not look good for our heroes!

... unless you're rooting for the orcs, that is.

[Dementation]

Great report, can't wait for the conclusion!

[Erny]

It may be BecauseI'm a great big nerdy geek or inspire of it but there is some genuine tension here. Edge of me seat.

[Mason]

Great!
Absolutely wonderful, my good man.

Great to see this epic story nearing its completion.


"Oooooozzz Yooooooooo?!
 

Just clocked all the shield designs.
Classic, especially the Severed Hand.


Looking forward to the final installment.

[Doomhippie]

Wonderful thread. Said it before, say it now and will say so again. And thanks for the beautiful and great storytelling!

[Vinlander]

Thansants, I have doffed my hat to you so many times in the course of this project that I can't find it anymore!

 

[Dr. Zombie]

This is simply stunning!

I love it. Give me more - much more!

[Thantsants]

Well folks this is it - the final installment. My thanks to all of you who have stuck with this project which has now been almost two and a half year's in the making! Well a few of those months were admittedly spent in inactivity for various real life reasons. All your lovely comments have been really appreciated - glad you'v enjoyed the ride.



It feels a little strange to have finished I must admit, but this is by no means the end of Orc's Drift. I hope to hook up with some fellow willing Oldhammerers at some point and I'm sure I won't have to hard a job to talk them into playing through these scenarios again, although I can't promise a write-up of these proportions I'm afraid!

Anyway, this isn't an acceptance speech so I won't gush anymore - on with the show...



Brommedir circled warily around the Orc Chieftain, sword poised in classical fencing pose, ready to turn the brute's attack. All was not well however, and his ears still rang from the impact of his helm on the creature's thick skull. Damned odd, he thought to himself, sounds like a great wagon train. He paused briefly to straighten said helm and to brush the dust off his scarlet cloak, eyes never leaving his hulking opponent. A chap ought to look smart in front of the men after all. Shouting over to his subaltern, Brommedir prepared for the fight of his life,

"Aydendorn, form a platoon. The redoubt must stand..."

Then, over the roar of battle came a call from Chardz on the Dwarven defensive line by the compound entrance,

"Broomhead, where are you? Reinforce the North wall, dammit, we are overrun!"

Torn in both directions with only a pitiful handful of archers left at his command Aydendorn despaired,

"Haven't you had enough? Both of you! My god, can't you see it's all over! Your bloody egos don't matter anymore. We're dead!"

And still the green throng swelled...

 


Chardz' detachment were certainly on the verge of being overrun. Beset on all sides by Kwae Karr warriors and the Hill Giant, it was all the Dwarfs could do to stay alive. Chardz leapt atop the parapet of the trench and brought his sword crashing into Guthrum's leg. The giant looked down in annoyance at the pinprick before felling Chardz' standard bearer with an irritable sweep of his blade.



The swirling combat that raged between the Elves and Kwae Karr Orcs in the redoubt ground on, neither side able to press an advantage home. Brommedir and Magyar exchanged blows, each seeking for a gap in the other's defences.

Hagar Sheol had more luck as he dived into the sappers' trench, bringing his great axe down on a hapless Dwarf's head. Howling in triumph, he beckoned forth his warriors to join the fray.



Outside the compound the archers of the Kwae Karr and Severed Hand moved up to the perimeter wall, eyes still peeled for likely targets. Bagrash came with them, ready to bend the winds of magic to his evil intent.



Also eager to taste battle, the Vile Rune Orcs pressed forward further threatening to swamp the beleagured Dwarfs.



The sappers over by the East Wall fared little better as the F'yar Guard added their weight to the struggle. The Dwarf engineers were now completely surrounded, Orc boots lining the entire length of the lip of the trench they had dug. The impact of their charge claimed the life of another Dwarf, although the plucky defenders managed to stave off Hagar Sheol's vicious attacks.



Chardz hefted his sword and bravely braced himself for another round in his seemingly mismatched duel with the Giant. Seeing a gap in Guthrum's tattered chainmail, he swung with all his might. The Giant bellowed in pain as Dwarven steel parted the tough hide and knotted sinew beneath. The dwarf was to pay for his valiant efforts, however, as blow after blow rained down from above, tearing great rents in the Mithril finery of his armour. Both opponents now eyed each other with a little more respect as they nursed their wounds.



Standing back to back with his commander, Oswen the unit's musician still sang on. Parrying blows with desperate abandon, his song didn't falter, even when an Orc blade got through, only to be turned by his armour.



The clash and clamour of the fight for the redoubt seemed to slacken slightly as the combatants began to tire. Again both sides fought doggedly on, neither Orc nor Elf willing to give an inch of ground. Amidst the weary combatants, Brommedir skipped lithely out of the way of Magyar's reach.



Bagrash stepped up to the outer wall, foul incantations issuing forth from his snarling lips. The guttural chant rose in pitch and volume, containing within it a rage and delight in the letting of blood. The shaman gestured towards his Chieftain and King sending forth the fury of battle. Magyar Ironfist and the Kwae Karr warriors around him stopped as though transfixed for a moment before a dreadful light crept into their eyes. The Orcs let out a great shout, gnashing their teeth and crashing sword against shield as they worked themselves into a terrible frenzy.



With the awful strength of berserkers the Kwae Karr again laid into the remnants of Brommedir's Bows. Two Elves were bludgeoned to the ground by the frenzied attacks; the last survivor somehow impaling his attacker as he stumbled back from the onslaught.

Brommedir found himself no longer able to stay out of reach as Magyar bore down on him. Again failing to land a single blow, the Elf commander cried out as the Orc King's cruelly spiked club crashed home, penetrating plate steel and flesh alike. Bloodied but alive, Brommedir staggered to his feet and grimly raised his guard once more.

[Thantsants]

Hagar Sheol continued his rampage in the trench, hacking down another Engineer, while his warriors and the F'yar guard jabbed their weapons down at the hard pressed Dwarfs.



Chardz looked up once more at his huge adversary, narrowing his eyes at the watery sunlight that filtered through the pall of cloud that hung over the Drift. Gritting his teeth at the burning pain in his side, he began to whirl his great sword about his head, yelling a frantic war cry as he advanced.

Guthrum paused, a little consternation piercing the fog of his mind. Little 'uns weren't supposed to do this. They were supposed to run. Screaming. This one, however, kept hitting him. Hard. Indecision paralysed Guthrum as he struggled to formulate a plan. He didn't want to get hurt again and there must be easier things to eat than this angry Dwarf. But the screaming mob of Orcs behind him prevented retreat. Guthrum roared in frustration and... pain?



An almighty bellow rent the air as the massive frame of the Hill Giant swayed. Guthrum looked about in confusion, clutching at the gaping hole in his belly, before slowly crashing to the ground. Chardz paused, leaning heavily on his bloodied sword.

The furious yell of the Vile Rune roused him from his fatigue and the doughty hero prepared to receive the next charge...

 

"Oswen, Oswen, I can't hear you. Where's that song you were singing?"

Chardz looked round for his trusty musician, only to see the leering visage of a Kwae Karr warrior. The Orc placed a filthy boot on the prone form of Oswen and with a great heave, pulled its crude blade out of his chest...



Bagrash stalked into the compound, delighting at the destruction that lay all around. Once more he began the chant that would instill a frenzied rage in his warriors, this time directing the spell at the F'yar Guard.



Surrounded as they were, beset on all sides and tiring fast, the remaining Dwarf sappers didn't stand a chance against the enraged shock troops.



Steel shod Orc boots trod Dwarf blood into the mud as the horde pressed on.



As the last Elf archer fell, Brommedir also found himself surrounded by a ring of berserk Orcs. Using all his skill, the graceful Elf dodged attack after attack, leaving two throats spouting dark ichor. Magyar Ironfist saw his chance and once more sent the Elf commander sprawling with a mighty blow.



Chardz afforded himself a quick glance in the direction of the redoubt. He saw Brommedir locked in his desperate struggle - the only other last island of resistance in a sea of green. With a darkly humorous grin the Engineer called out to his comrade,

"Well, you've fought your first action."

Brommedir, in between parries and feints, called breathlessly back,

"Does everyone feel like this at the end?"

"How do you feel?"

 The Elf caught the Dwarf's eye across the the Orc infested compound, previous enmities now forgotten,

"I feel... sick."

Brommedir's confession softened Chardz' heart momentarily, and to disguise his emotion he gruffly shouted back,

"Well, you have to be alive to feel sick."

The slight tremble in the Dwarf's voice betrayed him and Brommedir smiled weakly,

"You asked me, I told you. There's... something else. I feel proud to have fought with you..."




With that Brommedir turned once more to his persecutors, his once shining armour tarnished with his life blood, his cloak tattered and besmirched with mud. Again his sword sang through the air and this time it was the Orc Chieftain's blood that polluted the ground. Yet he could not hold out forever and slowly the mob closed in...



Chardz faced a wall of green. Ready to sell his life dearly, the Dwarf raised his trusty sword above his head once more. He no longer felt the wound in his side. Nor did he pay any heed to the hate filled eyes, flashing teeth or Orcish cries that approached. In the last moments before storm broke around him Osrim listened to the call of his ancestors and smiled. He would go out in a blaze of glory and red ruin...



Epilogue

Flags fluttered gaily from the gleaming spires of Palesandre and the city bustled as it always did, as if unaware of the impending tumult that threatened to engulf it. A rider broke free of the busy streets and galloped furiously through the palace grounds, incongruous in his haste. Barely waiting for the page to take his horse, the rider hurried up the grand staircase and through the great double doors that led to the throne room.

Lord-Commander Helmsford, Prince-regent and General of the Grand League's armies looked up from his maps at the sudden entrance,

"Ah, Major Crealock, to what do we owe this unexpected and precipitous surprise? How goes the fight with the Goblin host at Ortar?"

"Excuse me, my Lord, there's something I must convey to you. I rode along the highway down to Orc's Drift. The sky above is red with fire. Your orders my Lord? Do we move to the Drift?"

Outside the city went about its business as black clouds spread from the North in a pall across the sky...

[B. Basiliscus]

Excellent closing to an excellent series of gameplay!
I'm really going to miss this, thanks for going through all the work to show it to us!


One thing leaves me confused, though. Did the shaman cure his 'problem', and how?
Did he burn his junk off in the blazing ruins of the hospital, or rub the ashes on it? It's an odd thing to pick out and ask about, but I feel that I must.