The war cry’s begin and are quickly answered by a small hail of constant arrows.

Blood sprays Kgathur as the brethren in front of him falls under the small mass of arrows, wooden shafts piercing through her hide armor and wicked, barbed heads sticking out the other side glistening with black blood.

Dodging the dropping corpse, he stumbles over another hedgehogged corpse, and rolls in the ground, the whizzing of arrows zipping over him.

Scrambling up, an arrow embeds deep in his arm and he roars at the pain, fueling his rage to lessen it and give him thought of killing whomever shot him.

He continues charging, now fallen behind a few rows of orcs making him a lot less likely to be shot but a lot less likely to get to an elf first.

The slaughter had begun at three hundred feet, and by the time they had reached the bases of the elves’ trees, a few hundred of his brethren had died.

But Kgathur did not tremble in fear; he shook in glorious thoughts of killing such worthy opponents, however cowardly they are; hiding in trees and using bows.

Immediately, the rest of the horde, a hundred or two shy of a thousand now, raised these new ‘ladders’ with their crooked hooks, up to the tree house platforms.

The more matured orcs, those who were physically bigger and stronger, had been granted thick and large wooden shields, had been tasked to charging with the ladders, and even though their armor and shields bristled with arrows, they had successfully carried the ladders to the base of the trees.

A shield of a thousand bodies did help keep them alive too.

The ladders, once raised, latch onto the platform, making them difficult to disengage.

Immediately, the orcs swarm up the four ladders with axe in mouth and arrows piercing through their sides.

Hundreds, now stuck in a clean line, become easy targets for the elves, which shoot them with ravaging gusto.

Kgathur finally reaching the ladder begins scrambling up, getting an arrow in his right thigh and one on his left leg within seconds.

The orc in front of him drops down silently, a feathered shaft sticking out one of his eyes.

Suddenly the arrows lessen on the ladders as the first orcs finally reached the top, some covered in arrows, bleeding from multiple wounds yet still charging forward with all their might.

Those standing on the platforms quickly become the targets for all the elves, getting slaughtered by the dozens by a mass of arrows.

Kgathur reaches the top, scrambling and rolling behind a brethrens corpse, dodging a dozen arrows pointed his way.

Peering up, he sees ten elves on another platform joined by a bridge, firing arrows at a ridiculous speed towards them with a terrifying accuracy he notes as his ear receives an arrow through the center.

Others had begun using their fellow orcs’ corpses as shields and began pushing towards the bridge between the platforms.

Two elves were working hard sawing the edge of the bridge off and seeing that, the orcs abandoned all semblance of caution and rushed forward, using their comrades corpses as shields.

Scrambling behind half a dozen orcs and on top the corpses of a few dozen more, Kgathur reaches halfway across the bridge when suddenly two arrows sport from his right arm, even piercing the side of his chest slightly.

Swinging the corpse to the side, barbed arrow heads burst into view through the corpse’s head, dangerously close to his own.

The elves had begun shooting at other bridges, to kill the orcs from the side and it seemed to be working.

Within seconds, dozens of orcs had fallen over the rails, screaming as they plunged to their deaths.

Only one orc remained in front of Kgathur when he heard the screams of his brethren as a bridge had been successfully cut, sending dozens plummeting to their deaths.

Around two thirds of the war party had died but not one began retreating, not yet.

Kgathur reached the others side, jumping over the tumbling corpse of the one in front as he finally succumbs to a volley of arrows, and collides into the tree, just missing the group of elves as they retreat, giving the platform to the orcs.

The orcs swarm the platform and give chase, catching two of the slower elves and butchering them with victorious roars.

Kgathur, recovering from a mild concussion from hitting the tree, lost ground and now stood at the back of around thirty orcs, though that number quickly dwindled.

The eight remaining elves began a full retreat and the orcs began chasing them, around half dying before the finally catch up to the elves on the bridge of the third platform.

Orcs are faster than elves due to their powerful muscles, so once they were able to go into a full run without being filled with arrows, the elves had little chance of escaping.

Eight became six, became two and finally the last were caught in the back by orc axes and were summarily hacked to pieces.

They had killed their group of elves, but they did not finish there.

Racing across the next platform they rushed towards a wooden house carved into four trees, stopping when they noticed all bridges had been cut.

Turning round, he and his brethren looked for elves to kill.

Though Kgathur’s group had fared well, one group had been completely annihilated while the other two were still fighting fiercely against their ten archers, dying in droves yet slowly whittling down the number of elves.

So there was plenty still to kill.

The group of elves that had annihilated one group of orcs on one ladder were unharmed and on a sole platform about three metres away; possible jumping distance for an orc.

They were busy shooting down a raving group of orcs that were waylaying into a retreating group of four elves, slaughtering dozens after dozens.

Therefore they were distracted enough to not notice a small group of twenty orcs jumping across the platform, a few of the weaker and more wounded ones not crossing the gap and summarily falling to their deaths.

Kgathur’s chest and arms slammed onto the platform, digging his axe into the wood in the process, saving him from a hundred foot drop to his death.

With a grunt, he pulls himself up, surrounded by a dozen orcs, who had quickly charged across and began waylaying into the elves, killing three within moments.

Scrambling to his feet, he wrenches his axe out and charged into the melee, immediately blocking a blow from an elf with the handle, almost getting it split into two.

The elf handles the blade magnificently; slicing open Kgathur’s left shoulder before almost disemboweling him, only missing due to another orc stumbling away screaming as his guts spilled grimly onto the platform.

Using the momentary distraction, he heaves his axe towards the elf, feeling it bite deep along with an accompanied scream.

Wrenching the axe towards him, the elf is pulled into arm distance, his sword dangling useless from an almost severed arm.

Letting go of his axe, he grabs the elf’s neck, cracking it with ease before dropping the body in pain as a sword slices through his side, tearing through a rib in the process.

Roaring, he turns towards the elf, raising his arms to block the sword that’s aimed for his face, only to get it piercing through both his forearms, stopping inches from his skull.

The elf is barreled off the platform by another orc a moment later, his shrill screams drowned out by the sounds of battle and death all around.

No other elf attacks him as the rest are dead, either pushed off the platforms, some even taking an orc with them on the way down, or butchered on the spot.

Out of the sixteen orcs that made it onto the platform, only four remain. Even with a surprise attack, they had still lost a large amount.

As they celebrated their grand massacre, a horn blew from down below, drowning their spirits with shame.

It was the horn of retreat, blown because the battle had become too out of their favour.

Reluctantly, but with knowledge that they’d die ingloriously if they stayed, the orcs quickly retreated, hacking off the head’s of the elves around them, taking them back as trophies.

Sliding down the ladder, Kgathur stumbles away, blood dripping from multiple wounds and his vision heavy.

Though adrenaline kept him going, kept him running with a great speed to where the horn continuously blew, further in the distance each time.

Until he tripped upon a small body with an axe embedded deep in its face.

He scrambled up, looking at the corpse of what was an elf with round ears, it’s open eyes staring back unmoving, with mild wonder.

Then it blinked.

Kgathur, believing he was hallucinating from the lack of blood, ignored it, trying to wrench out the axe, but failed to do so due to lack of strength.

Orcs were still running away around him, their faces a mixture of victory and defeat and he quickly decided to join them, instinctively dragging the axe over his shoulder and subsequently this non-elf male, blood still freshly pouring from his face and drenching Kgathur’s shoulder and arm.

They ran and stumbled for the better part of an hour, finally collapsing in a heap of sweat and blood, many dying from their wounds and exhaustion on the spot.

Kgathur collapsed, yet still alive somehow, the adrenaline finally shutting off and sending him into a deep wave of lethargy.

Forcing his eyes to stay open, he looks at the bright sky, of late morning, hearing the groans of his brethren as they help one another bandage their wounds or give a glorious death to those who won’t make it.

Within a few minutes, he is able to sit up, broken arrow shafts still sticking out from his body, but his sword wounds are closed, scars already forming.

Too tired to think about it, he looked around the mass of orcs that once numbered one thousand.

Counting twelve tens and six orcs, he grunts.

Worse than it should be, but for what we’ve done, it is amazing.

His eyes wander to a decently large pile of heads; eighteen he counts. But he knows those are only the ones that they were able to collect.

Their Warleader, Ooragkt, hobbled around camp, fresh wounds spurting blood onto the freshly tied bandages with each step.

He went round giving a grunt of approval to all of his orcs, only stopping at Kgathur, piggy eyes squinting at the strange corpse next to him.

Kgathur, remembering what he had dragged along instinctively, since an orc without an axe is shameful, turns round to see the eyes staring back at him; looking rather unimpressed.

Then the eyes blink, sending both orcs into a relapse of disbelief attributing it to exhaustion. That is till the eyes blink again, this time a flash of gold permeating the pupils till they return to their normal colour.

“DEMON” Ooragkt screams as he jumps back in shock.

Screaming also, Kgathur jumps up, further garnering the attention of the whole group as he points along with Ooragkt towards the corpse that isn’t a corpse.

The eyes stay focused on Kgathur, blinking rather patiently at first but then increasing in frequency, as if annoyed.

Suddenly they begin darting from the axe to Kgathur, back and forth while the group gathers round, jumping away and trembling in fear at such a sight.

In desperate terror, one attacks the ‘demon’; axe slicing off an arm, but the only response from it is another unimpressed look from it.

Half a dozen others join in frantically, hacking away at it; leaving their axes embedded in it, before in pure terror, scurry away, revealing the ‘demon’ still looking around rather unimpressed at the lot.

Its eyes finally return to Kgathur and the axe. Soon the rest of the group looks at Kgathur and then the axe.

Swallowing both blood and spit, he shuffles towards the axe, wrenching it out from deep within the face after a few heavy tugs, leaving a large gaping hole in the skull, displaying a large chunk of the brain, although a fair amount stayed on the axe itself.

The ‘demon’ remains motionless now, not moving, eyes staring straight into the sky, but all see that slowly the chest rises up and down, even though two axes stay embedded in it.

Almost fifteen minutes pass with no one moving an inch, some even forgetting to breath for a few seconds due to the silent, thick tension.

Finally, with a mix of horror and wonder, they see the body regenerate, the wounds close and the face reform, eyes now twinkling with a happyish sparkle.

Slowly and shakily, the ‘demon’ stands up, causing all the orcs to kneel and grovel begging utter forgiveness in one green mass.

Orcs are not acclaimed to be devout followers of gods or demons, but to meet one certainly dug enough fear into their hearts to make them bow for they are superstitious in their own way.

The ‘demon’ said something unintelligible, but it bowed towards Kgathur to everyone’s wonder before sauntering away from the circle, orcs stumbling away while their heads and knees stayed planted on the ground.

It disappeared among the trees, walking back towards the elves’ region and all the orcs, even Ooragkt looked a Kgathur in wonder, for he had a demon bow to him, for whatever reason.

Little did they know the ‘demon’ was simply giving his thanks for having the axe removed.

With such a strange occurrence and their first battle with the elves burned into their minds, they began the long trudge home.

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Author's Corner: Orcs!!!

Don't worry there will soon be a little bit of lore on them, explaining possibly a few questions you may have about them :D

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the battle which was a complete massacre.

-TRUE NORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD