April 24, 5319 A.A.

Mark raced along the narrow road. Despite his inexperience his mount carried him faithfully and he was truly grateful. He hadn't the faintest idea of how to sit in the saddle on a galloping horse, and every stride ended with harsh pain as he was bounced around, but he held on and powered through. He rode through an ocean of titanic pine trees, each the equal of a redwood giant that used to dominate the northern coast of California before the quake. Despite the majestic forest around him, his eyes were glued to the road. The only hope he had of finding the foresters were the ruts from their wagon as it branched off to their latest site. He almost missed it, as he slipped and scrambled to balance atop the galloping horse but he saw it in the corner of his eye. He pulled the right rein to the side far too harshly in his panic, and the mare cut and turned on a dime, throwing him from his seat. She halted as soon as she felt his weight lifted, and walked back to him with a snort and a look of exasperation so blatant it crossed the species barrier.

He cried out as pain erupted in his arm. He had landed on a root, and his wrist had broken from the impact. His right hand now hung limp at his side. As the waves of pain washed over him, he sat, and wallowed in self pity until the horse shoved him over with its nose. She didn't know what was going on, but she felt the urgency in her master and the other villagers. She knew she had a job to do, and wasn't going to let Mark stop her. He rose, grudgingly, and she led him to a rock large enough to let him climb up even with one hand. He pointed her in the direction of the wagon ruts, and she took off again, her stride just a bit softer as Mark whimpered with every step.

Luckily, the loggers weren't far from the road. They were grouped around a pair of trees at the edge of an artificial clearing of their own making. They turned as he cleared the tree line, and he cried out "Orcs are attacking! We need to get back to the village!".

The foresters froze, but the leader Ivar quickly snapped them out of it. "Toss those logs off the carriage! We're getting out of here, now!" The men all ran to the carriage, and heaved the few logs they had already loaded onto he forest floor. Mark dismounted as best he could, and handed off Annie to Ivar as he told the lumberman everything he knew. Within two minutes Mark and all the men were on the cart and Ivar led the way atop Annie. The cart driver pushed the four mighty draft horses to their limit, they all knew what would happen if they were caught outside the palisade, and they prayed.

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Alexandra watched the orderly chaos that had erupted outside the village, the frontiersmen all carried themselves with a determined resolve that proved their experience. The new arrivals were panicking as any normal person would be, but the veterans kept their heads and focused on what needed to be done. The livestock were all rounded up and riders sent to the foresters and the other hunting group. All the farmers had been accounted for, and as she led one of the last goats through the gate the men were planting stakes and spears in a defensible arc outside and inside the gate. Sigmund was scattering wicked caltrops all over the area in front of the gate with only a narrow path straight down the middle. Liam was rushing to piece together spiked barricades. As she handed off the goat to Frank, two riders broke through the tree line.

The horses were frothing at the mouth from the exertion, their chests heaving with every breath. Still Giles drove them on, the village had to be warned. But as he broke through the trees, he saw the front gate was heavily fortified, and the new priestess was rushing towards them with Frank and the new stableboy. He looked back at Douglass, strapped to the horse like a prisoner. They had feared he would collapse and so had strapped him to his horse, but despite his grievous wound he had lasted the journey. As the villagers neared him, he brought his horse to a halt and shouted "Orcs in the mountains! We were attacked, I don't know if anyone else made it! Douglass lost his arm!"

Alex calmly responded "We know, Vidar saw it all. Frank will take your horse, get some rest." She spoke as the stableboy helped her remove Douglass' bindings, and they carried him through the gates as Frank took the reins of both of the courageous mounts.

"Perks of having our own god!" Frank chipped in "We are ready for them."

"The others, are they alright?" Giles franticly demanded.

"They are ahead of the pack last we heard, but Aaron... Aaron didn't make it."

"Damn..." Giles sighed.

"You saved Douglass. You did all you could. Go get some rest while you can. We don't have much time."

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Mark almost made it to the village, they almost made it to the safety of the walls before the orcs broke through the tree line. Almost. The farmland and pastures as well as lumber harvesting left a two-thousand foot clearing between the forest and the settlement They were within sight of the gate when three of the hunters ran out of the forest, the warband less than thirty feet behind them. "Fuck!" Shouted one of the loggers, and Mark was inclined to agree. Ivar called them to a stop, the orcs were between them and the gate.

"We will have to circle around, make for one of the southern gates. Drive as close to the beasts as you can. If the orcs try to give chase, we can ride away faster than they can run and it will distract some of them." Ivar ordered, Mark thought it was a solid plan, as long as nothing went wrong. As they made their way around the edge of the forest, the villagers charged out.

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"There's no way they can make it..." Sigmund groaned. If the hunters could just make it to the gate, the villagers would be able to fend off the orcs from a favorable position.

Liam was the first to action, "There's no time. Guardsmen with me! Hit them hard and fast, then retreat. It won't be easy, but we need to save those men!" The craftsman hefted his oversized axe, and charged out through the gap in the fortifications. The guardsmen honored Liam's charge, unlike the hunters they had proper steel armor, and all were armed with heavy shields, spears, and swords. These were men trained to hold the line against all manner of beasts, but there were only nine of them. The villagers steeled themselves for the coming fight, the stronger among them bore shields and spears, to help the guardsmen hold the line when they returned but the rest were weak, they had a few extra bows to pass around, but not nearly enough for all of them.

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"What is he doing?" Mark cried out. "He's a craftsman. He isn't even wearing any armor... they will tear him apart!" Despite his harshness, Mark had grown to respect his teacher. He couldn't bear to watch him die so foolishly.

"You mean Liam?" chuckled the bearded lumberman sitting next to him.

"Of course, what can he do?"

"You have no idea." Another lumberman cut in.

"What do you mean?" Mark demanded, frustration setting in.

The whole forester crew stared at him incredulously for a moment. "You really don't know?" Asked the first lumberman. "You spend every day with the man, and you don't know?"

"KNOW WHAT!?" Mark yelled, getting even more frantic as Liam closed the gap with the bloodthirsty orcs.

"Liam is the strongest man in the village. Craftsman isn't his first class. Hell, its not even his second."

"What?" Mark asked again, dumbly.

"That man is a berserker."

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Jothan was two thirds of the way across the field. Liam was thundering towards him at a monstrous pace. They were almost safe. But then he heard a garbled scream. The orcs had caught Adam. He was the slowest of the hunters, and he fell behind in their desperate flight. A crude spear was thrown, and was now jutting from his chest, as he coughed blood. He stumbled a few more steps before tumbling forwards. Jothan slowed, he couldn't lose another one. Not so close to the walls. Maric saw him stop, and immediately drew and fired his bow to provide cover. It was a futile effort, but he would stand by Jothan to the end. In the time it took Jothan to pick up Adam, the orcs were on them. At the last moment, when their death seemed certain, a monstrous battle cry rocked the field.

Orc and human alike were stunned by the noise, but all except the strongest orcs were paralyzed with an unnatural terror. In that moment where the battle field froze, Liam reached the hunters and with a sweep of his mighty axe, cleaved clean through the three closest orcs still stunned by the blast. Maric rushed forwards and helped Jothan carry Adam as quickly as they could as Liam pushed his advantage and butchered three more orcs before the battle cry wore off. Even as they regained their senses, profound terror racked the simple minds of the orcs. As his next victim raised its axe to block the coming strike, Liam only swung harder, cleaving through wood, flesh, and bone as easily as he chopped firewood. Before he could finish off any more, a ferocious brute even larger than Liam stepped forwards. The orc leader was a long lived orc, every inch of his body was covered in scars. The brute matched Liam's ferocity with a fierce blow of his colossal iron warhammer. Liam received the blow with the shaft of his axe, and with impossible strength the blow was stopped hard by the iron oak wood. The mightiest blow the orc could muster couldn't budge the axe, or the man. The orc growled before throwing himself below Liam's counter as Liam rushed forwards with reckless abandon.

As he pressed deeper into the orc warriors, he found himself surrounded by the hideous gray monsters. They jumped at him, laughing like a pack of hyenas who had found a wounded gazelle. They all swung their axes and clubs at his exposed back, but their weak blows were useless against his hardened flesh. A few of the axes drew blood, but left no more than a scratch. They continued to rain down blows on their prey, but their efforts were futile and only served to enrage the craftsman who turned on them and cleaved through their ranks with furious blows before the orc chief scored a brutal blow on his back with the rusty warhammer.

As Liam stumbled a single step, he roared and charged the massive brute once again just as the guardsmen rushed into the fray. They quickly formed a battle line, and the guard captain Fredrick shouted to Liam "Keep your head! We need to get out of here!" Liam merely grunted in reply, his mind ran red, but he gave ground to the monstrous orc. The guardsmen were slowly retreating backwards, fending off the orcs with their spears as Liam traded vicious blows with the brute, but the other orcs pushed forwards, a seething mass of slavering beasts. There were just too many, and the guardsmen would be encircled on the open field. Just then, Rorik's party charged out of the forest, flanking the orc warband.

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Ivar spoke to his men as he saw the hunters charge into the fray. "Liam could use a hand. Are you ready men?"

"Of course!" Torig the driver replied as soon as the words had left Ivar's mouth

"Should be more fun than chopping trees!"

"Not much choice, they'll be overrun if we don't."

Mark was shocked at the eagerness of the lumbermen to charge into battle, but it looked like that's where they were headed. "I have no weapon, and my arm is useless..." Mark croaked out, ashamed.

"Take the reins from me when we're close then." Torig replied. "Get to the rangers from Rorik's party, give them a shooting platform. This thing isn't too hard to drive, the horses are smart beasts. Ignore all the other straps, just pull the left horses left rein to go left, and the right horses right rein to go right. It's not ideal, and they won't like it, but it will do in a pinch."

"My wrist..." Mark began to splutter.

"Son, this is war. It's going to hurt, badly, but suck it up. Those men sitting with you are about to charge into battle without any armor, and lives will depend on those bowmen having a good shot."

"Right. Sorry."

"Come up here and watch while I get into position. It won't be much but it'll give you some idea what you're gonna be doing.

With the carriage and Ivar on horseback, they cleared the gap in seconds. Ivar gave the order, "Everyone out boys, we've got work to do!" The men bailed out of the cart, and charged in at the orcs trying to get in behind the battle line, trapping them between guardsmen spears and logging axes.

Mark urged the horses on, to the hunters racing across the field. His mind screamed with pain from his wrist, but he had to keep going. Rorik's hunters had rushed to return as soon as the rider had reached them, their bows were badly needed and their two defenders ran to join the battle line. As he picked up Rorik and his rangers, he saw 12 more villagers charging out from the fortified gate. They must have come to the same conclusion that Ivar had, now was the time to fight. Rorik stepped up to the driver's seat, and even as he fired his bow he directed Mark to drive them closer. Mark pulled up less than 40 feet from the backs of the embattled orcs, and Rorik's men rained hell upon them.

Liam stood tall at the head of the guardsmen. He snarled and roared, fending off the two largest orcs all on his own. He was lost in his bloodlust. As a veteran berserker, he knew his allies from his enemies, but everything else ran red. With a mighty blow, he buried his axe in the collar of one of his opponents. The orc was cleaved clean through its body down to its naval but the axe held firm, caught between flesh and bone. The warhammer wielding monster rushed in on the defenseless craftsman, finally spared from Liam's furious offensive, and brought down his hammer with all his might. Liam moved even faster than the beast, and tackled him to the ground mid-swing. With his bare hands, he pummeled the monstrous orc. A hurricane of heavy blows rained down upon the the orc's face, and in moments the orc leader was dead. The other orcs tried to rush the craftsman while he tore apart their leader, but their axes again made only insignificant scratches on his blood soaked skin. Distracted from his mutilated foe, he charged back into the orc pack armed only with fists and teeth.

The combined force of loggers, guardsmen, villagers and hunters encircled and slaughtered the remaining orcs, fending them off with shields while they were cut down from behind. As the last orc fell, the men stopped to survey the field around them, but Liam was still beating what was left of an orc's corpse, now only a bloody mess of flesh and bone. His mind was gone. One of the new guardsmen reached out to stop him, but Fredrick roughly grabbed him and jerked him back. "Leave him. He is lost, he will burn out soon enough. We have to tend to our dead." The harsh words forced the realization that not everyone had survived, and they turned their gaze to the mutilated bodies of their friends. The battle was won, but not without cost.