“Pull!” Yelled a stout, red faced Ataman as several large muscular orcs laboured behind him on the length of taught hempen ropes.

Spring had come with a vengeance, with the force of several thousands of orcs spilling over from the plains into the human kingdom of Belandier.

They had fought several groups of resistance but all had been crushed, the long spears of the human soldiers more suited for pitched battle than hunts through the woods, and if there was something orcs did well, it was hunt.

They had raided villages and burnt fields, but no major engagements had been fought. Well, until now.

“Pull you lazy bastard! The Khagan wants this gate down by noon!” Yelled the Ataman again in a deep resounding voice.

The orcs had managed to attach ropes to the main gate and were currently in the process of pulling it down.

They were in the area surrounding the human city of Hamar, a once great trading city back from the age when men still ruled the plains.

“My lord, my lord Ataman!” Yelled a smaller Orcish boy as he ran up toward the gate, in the beginning of the siege this would have been a death sentence, but now, after the humans had used all of their arrows? Their city had become a glorified can, just waiting to be prized open.

“What is it boy?!” Yelled the orc known as Beragor, the lead Ataman of Khan Kelshar’s personal regiment.

Beragor frowned, usually they would have the boy Lorik delivering messages but he died with a pike to the gut, not a good way to go, he died screaming.

“Khan Kelshar wishes to check that Bogdan Takarn is ready to enter the breach.” Said the boy, ah Takarn, the Iron Orc, The Hell Spear, The False Khan.

Beragor hated the orc, a fucking upstart drunk on his power. Ever since he had waltzed into training with men covered head to toe in armour he was made the new vanguard for Khan Kelshar’s troops, and he had let it go to his head.

“No, the bastard is absent, I’ve sent several men to his camp, but all he says is ‘I will come when needed.’ What does that even mean?! I bet the craven just wants to steal all of the glory.

“But the Khan ordered him here.” Said the smaller orc meekly, seemingly cowed at the sudden outburst from his superior.

“Bah, go talk to him if you want, but it will be in vain, all he cares about is his fame.” Said Beragor in disgust.

He watched the small orc scamper off toward Takarn’s hill to try once again to convince the bastard to join the battle.

We don’t need him. Thought Beragor before turning back to the ropes.

“Pull!”

-----

Takarn POV

Takarn leaned nonchalantly against the fence of his camp as he watched a small orc run toward him from the siege lines.

Truth be told Takarn had every intention of joining the battle, the only reason he had left it this ate was because of the Khagan.

That bastard had the audacity to demand my help! He said thinking back to the messenger the Khagan had sent him.

Me, the Hell Spear, The Iron Orc, the chosen of Hirna! And he demands my help?! Takarn shook his head in outrage.

This had all started shortly after he had revealed his men’s new armour. Ever since then the Khagan had been hailing them as the vanguard of the army. At first Takarn was ecstatic, not only was he a Bogdan, but the Bogdan of the vanguard.

Then he realised all it meant was hard fighting for little recognition. Three times their so called ‘War master’ Khagan Drenshawn snatched victory, turning the tide of the battle with a well-placed charge on the enemy’s flank.

He was hailed as a hero, but all he did was come in at the end. The only reason he could do all of this was because there, down in the mud, fighting shield to shield with the enemy was Takarn, fighting, bleeding and killing for another orcs glory.

He watched as the small orc sprinted toward the fence before doubling over and panting.

“Lord-huff-Bogdan-huff Takarn, the frontlines need you.”

Takarn looked toward the boy and then back toward his men, they were already armed and armoured and he could see several bloodthirsty grins already, these weren’t soldiers, they were killers, but they were his killers.

“What do you say boys? Have we let the uppity cunt stew for long enough?” He asked and saw several eager nods.

“Alright then. Let’s go.” He said while marching toward the gate.

He picked up speed as he approached, hearing the thunderous footsteps of the men behind him.

As he got closer to the gate he began the war chant him and the rest of his troop had developed over a season of war.

“What are we?!” Roared Takarn as he saw the sides of the heavy wooden gate begin to splinter.

“Hard as iron!” They replied recognising the chant.

“What are we?!” He roared again.

“Strong as rock!” They chorused as the rest of the infantry formed into the charge behind them.

“Who?!”

“The immovable!”

“Who?!”

“The indomitable!” They yelled as the saw they gate finally breach and swing open revealing several tightly packed ranks of humans cowering in the courtyard behind.

“Who?!” He said as he passed the shattered ruins of the gate, coming close enough to smell the fear of the men beyond.

“Orcs! Orcs! We are the orcs!” They yelled, as they thundered toward their prey, as Takarn led his men once more into the breach.