originally posted in Alliance: HotE/D RPG
Part 1
Swiltang Yarltang
+many miscellaneous minions, Elladan, Elrohir, Gildor
The ruined fortress at Trollshaws was pitchlike in the darkness before dawn. Even as Tar-Taidron Mordagnir and Lord Elrond surveyed the scene, they were in turn surveyed by the ruins and those who haunted them. Though most of the small host of orc and troll who occupied the are lay in wait underground, several of the more asute and bow-carrying among them hid peppered about the surface ruins, on the lookout for any elves who would come seeking their captured kin. Each of the elf nobles was secreted in a different place about the ruin and heavily guarded. It was rare that the minions of this region captured such valuable prisoners, and they were not about to let them escape so easily…
~
Bog (troll), Swiltang (orc) & co. – Facing Merl’s group
“Why can’t we eat ‘im now?” Bog asked nastily, prodding the elf’s shoulder with one large, callous-encrusted finger. “I ain’t et an elf in ages! All we had is mutton,” the troll shuddered, “that skinny little orc who couldn’t keep up and grass for the past week! Grass! Idunno ‘bout you lot but I’m used to eatin’ better’n that.”
“Shut it, Bog.” An orc replied shortly from the corner of the cellar, where he had lit an abandoned torch in its bracket, illuminating the room with a small, unsteady light. “We need him for information. Won’t be much good if he’s dead, will he?” Swiltang (for this was his name) turned away from the torch and crossed to where the elf sat on the hard-packed floor, hands and legs bound. Swiltang was uncommonly tall for an orc, lean and twisted, with a permanent vicious sneer on his discolored face, and he showed his pointed teeth as he leaned over the elf. “And you’re going to cooperate, aren’t you?”
Elrohir’s lip curled as the orc leader drew nearer, bringing with him the vile stench that always seemed to accompany the creatures. Clearly one of the qualifications for leadership among the yrch was an even greater lack of personal hygiene than the rest exhibited. The son of Elrond had been thrown to the floor of this pit some time earlier, to be badgered and prodded by a ravenous troll. He was weary and battered, but with no wound serious enough to diminish his ability to resist and defy. He hoped only that his brother and the others were of a similar state as he drew breath to fling a scathing reply back at the orc.
Before Elrohir could begin his retort, a shout distinctly not the voice of yrch or troll came form the stairwell leading away from the cellar. Swiltang whipped round, drawing his wicked, curved blade. “What are you waiting for?” he bawled at the other orcs gathered in the cellar. “Get them!” He laid about with the flat of his blade at the slowest of the bunch, then turned back to his prisoner to see Bog hauling the elf up by his arms. “Just a bite, Swil!” the troll moaned, bringing his gaping mouth close to Elrohir’s shoulder. Swiltang sprang towards, slicing into Bog’s shoulder. The troll gave a low roar and dropped the elf back to the ground. “Get out there, or you’ll have none, do you hear?!” the orc spat, jabbing his fist at the stairs, from the top of which he began to hear the cries of his command as they met the elves above. Grudgingly Bog seized his enormous blunt hammer from where it had stood against the wall and lumbered up to stairs. Swiltang dragged Elrohir to a sitting position against the wall and stood beside him, sword across the elf’s throat, eyes fixed on the door.
Bog crested the stairs to meet the carcasses of four orcs, impaled upon the spears of the elves. He stepped on them as he pounded out into the hallway, roaring, hammer upraised. Two points of stinging pain erupted in his arm and caught sight of two archers- Bog broke the shafts from where they stuck in his arm. “Come on!” he bellowed, “Let’s have elf flesh for breakfast!” He chose a pair of elves near to him (Merl & Mar), one with a long polearm (Merl) and swung the hammer wildly down at them.
~
Red (troll), Eck (troll) & co. - Facing Aldahir’s group
Deep in the dungeons of the ruined fortress, far below the ground and way from the coming fingers of the malevolent sun, sat Red and Eck, talking together. They completely ignored the group of orcs that accompanied them, and were discussing the finer methods of preparing elf, or whether it ought to be prepared at all. The orcs were crowded together at the opposite side of the hallway that stood before the cells, muttering and complaining about having to deal with the inconvenience of trolls who had minds of their own and couldn’t go out in the sunlight. Between and behind the two groups, in a cell barred with a twisted bar of iron, sat Gildor, who was in a mood. The elf was seated cross-legged upon the shelf-like slab of wood which hung by chains from the wall and must at some point have served as the bed for those unfortunate enough to be imprisoned here.
Now one of those unfortunates himself, Gildor allowed his thoughts to wander to his comrades and fellow captives. In a surprisingly tactical move, the leader of the orcs had separated them, and he could only wonder what had become of Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir. Given the discussion of the two trolls, which he was attempting not to listen to, any or all of them could be residing in the bellies of both troll and orc by now. Nevertheless, whether any of them were alive by the end of the night, Gildor was certain that Lord Elrond would not allow the abduction of his sons to go unpunished.
“Now listen, Red.” Said Eck, in as persuasive a tone as he could muster, “there’s no point in cooken ‘em at all. You loses all the juices that way!”
“Idunno, Eck, give me a nice crispy elf skin anytime.”
“How about we compromises then, you can skin him and give it a toast, and we’ll eat the rest raw!”
One of the orcs hissed sharply at the pair of trolls, causing them both to turn abruptly. The orc beckoned them over, and they hurried as quickly as possible in the confined space, each pausing to grab his club on the way. The orc led them to the front of the group and gestured out the door. Red and Eck peered around the doorway into the corridor. From around a bend they could see a shimmering blue light approaching, a sure sign that elves were about, no doubt a rescue party come to snatch away their potential breakfast. Red and Eck exchanged a look that spoke more volumes than many would have thought possible of trolls, and with movements swifter than many would expect of trolls, Red had seized the hissing orc and Eck had punted him, with a sharp impact of his knobbly foot, out into the corridor to test the waters.
~
Jabber (troll), Ahaser (orc), Kork (orc) & co. - Facing Beltranc’s group
Ahaser thought that this ruined hallway would be the perfect place to secrete their prisoner and for the troll to take cover from the sun, but Kork did not agree. The two orcs were engaged in a vicious, sotto voce argument behind the pile of debris which filled most of the width of the corridor. Jabber had dropped to his haunches against the rubble, after depositing their unwilling elven companion several feet away in the corner. Every few moments Jabber, grown bored with watching the orcs fight, would glance over at Elladan, a gobbet of drool sliding its way down his face unnoticed. Contrary to his name, Jabber was one of the least talkative of his cousins, especially Red and Eck. Their constant chatter irritated Jabber, and he almost hoped that the orcs they were with would get fed up and do something about it.
Though he did not know it, Elladan’s condition was in nearly identical condition to his brother. Slumped against the rocks, he held his right arm gingerly as he could with it being bound. He had received a deep slice near the shoulder, and though he did not think it grievous, it would bear coddling now if he were to be able to use it to effect an escape. He was not about to sit by and wait for a rescue, or to be eaten, if there was anything he could do to help it. Clenched in his fist was a sharp rock he had managed to scrabble from the debris pile when the troll had set him down and with the tiniest movements, eyes still watching the bickering orcs, he began to rup it back and forth across the ropes which bound his hands together.
In the open area beyond the pile of rubble, the argument between Ahaser and Kork had evolved into physical violence, the pair grappling and rolling about on the floor, punching, biting and kicking one another. The rest of the orcs stood back, egging them on with spirited gestures, still under the rule of silence. Pummeling Kork’s head twice, Ahaser leapt to his feet and drew his ragged blade.
“Swiltang put me in charge, if you’ve got a problem with that we’d better settle this now!” he hissed at Kork. The other orc charged, but his blade stuck in the rough belt which he wore and before Kork could turn to run, Ahaser had run him through with a triumphant shout. It mingled with Kork’s agonized squeal and with Jabber’s grunt as he came suddenly to his feed, tapping Ahaser on the back.
“Sounds.” The troll rumbled. Every creature in the hallway froze except Kork, who continued his deathly twitches. They could hear footsteps and faint voices. Of a sudden Elladan began to shout, but his voice was quickly drowned by Ahaser’s as he ordered his orcs over the debris. They came swarming over the pile, bristling with blades to attack the group of elves on the other side. Jabber came lumbering after them, a great axe clutched in his enormous hand. His eyes focused on an elf who carried what seemed to him a miniature version of the same weapon (Beltranc) and proceeded calculatedly towards him.
~
Yarltang (orc), Garth (troll), & co. – Facing Nulda’s group
Aboveground waited the archers, hidden among the crumbling ruins, sitting still and silent as stones. They were led by Yarltang, brother of Swiltang, if possible more cruel that the other, and bitter in his position of inferiority. If the opportunity presented itself for a well-timed shaft to crunch its way though the back of Swiltang’s skull Yarltang would not pass it by, but for now he would have to content himself with a spot of elf-slaughter. His group were responsible the elf-lord known as Erestor. The prisoner was not in the archer-orc’s immediate sight, but he was confident that those who held him directly would ensure his continued confinement if he happened to wake up. Yarltang chuckled softly- a distinctly unpleasant sound- remembering the look on the elf’s face when he had bashed him.
For some time, Yarltang had been watching the shadowing figures move about in the distance, growing closer and closer to the ruins in which he and his group stood watch. He had signaled some of them to hide themselves on ground level, with a few remaining higher up with him, bows at the ready. He had waited, not giving the order to fire or reveal themselves when all the elves who had ventured into the fortress were above ground, but now only a small group of them remained. The orc began to raise his hand to signal the his archers, when suddenly there came a rumbling grunt from below and the sound of heavy footsteps; he looked down to see a troll moving in the shadows, approaching the group of elves below.
“Garth!” Yarltang growled in venomous exasperation. The troll had objected when he had been forbidden to go and kill the invading elves at once, but at the persuasion of the spears and blades of the orcs on the ground, he had gone off to tear up a small tree to use as a club. Tree end hand, Garth charged now at the group of elves. “Now!” Yarltang shouting, throwing off the veil of subterfuge, throwing up a hand and making a swift cutting motion with it. He rose above the crumbling battlement which had shielded him and drew back the string of his small, compact bow, aiming the arrow which he had already nocked to it. He squinted one eye, taking careful aim before loosing the shaft at a longbow-wielding elf below (Malora). Meanwhile Garth rushed swinging his sapling club at the cloaked elf (Nulda) while the several other orc archers began to fire and those on the ground sprang from their hiding places. Yarltang was not foolish enough to believe they had won, and glanced to the tower behind him, catching the eye of the guard-orc at the decaying window.
~
Yarltang hissed with delight as he saw his arrow take an elf (Malora) in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Unfortunately, due to some last minute movement by the elf or poor aim on his part (though he was inclined the believe the former), the rat regained his feet and loosed a shot back at him. The orc archer stepped to the side of his battlement hiding place, laughing harshly as the shaft winged by, its unstable flight clattering to an end on the stones at his feet. Yarltang nocked another shafter and stood waiting for one of the elves (Malora & Beathan) to break their cover… then he would finish them off. In the meantime the rest of his archers would continue to harass them. He took a moment to glance down at Garth. The troll’s initial strike had missed the elf (Nulda) and he roared in upset, skidding on his lumbering feet to face the Authon once more. An elf dashed forward, no doubt to aid his leader, and with a swift lash of his muscled arm, Garth had struck the offending creature in the abdomen, sending him flying back into a stone wall. The troll’s bulging eyes returned to Nulda again and he stalked forward, holding the trunk out threateningly before him. It had splintered slightly with the force with which he had struck the elf who now lay still behind him. Garth did not speak, unlike some of his cousins not one to taunt his prey, only calculate the best way to kill it.
~
Bog (troll), Swiltang (orc) & co. – Facing Merl’s group
Bog bellowed aloud as he swung his hammer down… only to miss completely, and narrowly avoid smashing his own foot with the weapon, which plowed a deep furrow into the ground. He looked up in time to see each of the elves dash in a different direction. Raising his hammer, Bog lumbered forward, still undecided which of the tasty morsels to chase. One of them shouted something at him- big pile of cow dung. Wounded, Bog grimaced at the elf. He may have smelled similar, but if he was going to be dung he would definitely be the dung of something much more impressive than a cow! Injury turning to fury, he turned to the elf who menaced him with the glaive (Merl) with a roar, deflecting her slash with a jarring blow. Before Bog could make another swipe with his warhammer, a searing pain split the back of his right leg and he howled in agony. His knee buckled and thumped to the ground as his head swiveled to see the elf (Mar) who had lacerated the back of his knee, parting tendon from muscle and unleashing a torrent of blood to pool around his foot on the ground. Enraged and blinded by pain, he swung his hammer straight down at the elf (Mar).
Meanwhile, Swiltang still lurked in the cellar with Elrohir, listening to the sounds of combat from above. No elf had made it through the doors to the underground yet, but even as the orc leader menaced the elf lord with his wicked blade, he heard Bog’s wailing cry from above. Swiltang’s head jerked up; the troll must have been badly wounded, and that spelled disaster for him. He had kept the smallest contingent for himself, thinking his position secure and not expecting attack. Glaring daggers at Elrohir, Swiltang thrust his blade through the thick belt at his waist and drew back a leg. The lean orc delivered a sharp kick to the bound elf’s head, sending him sprawling to the ground, where he lay still. Acting quickly, he dragged the elf into a corner of the room and dashed out its single torch on the ground, plunging the cellar into blackness. With the large eyes of his race, Swiltang picked his way swiftly up the stairs and out of the cellar. When he reached the open air of the night outside, he saw Bog fighting off two elves, and the pitiful remnants of his fellow orcs dealing with others. With a swiftness that belied his twisted body, he seized one of these fellows as he passed, thrusting the unfortunate orc before him. The underling stiffened, the arrow meant for Swiltang now protruding from his chest. Swiltang slipped swiftly into the darkness among the ruins, leaving Bog to his own devices.
~
Red (troll), Eck (troll) & co. - Facing Aldahir’s group
“No.” Red grunted in response to Ulzog’s questioning. “Swil wants ‘im kept alive.”
“Waste.” Muttered Eck, still staring out to where he had kicked the hissing orc. It was too quiet, no response from the enemy or enemies he knew to be lurking out in the corridor. He looked at Red with his protruding eyes. “What’j reckon?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.” Red agreed, nodding at his cousin. “Another.” Simultaneously they turned to Ulzog. “G’wan then, bold one.” Red ordered, pointing out to the corridor with a stubby finger. “We’ll follow yer with the rest.”
~
Jabber (troll), Ahaser (orc), Kork (orc) & co. - Facing Beltranc’s group
The troll lingered back a moment, letting the orcs rush forward to face the group of elves. Jabber kept his dark, glittering eyes fixed on the elf he had wounded (Beltranc) as he staggered backwards into one of his own (Isabeau), his blood spilling all over her. Looking down at his own axe, the troll saw its edge smeared with the elf’s blood; he ran one bulbous finger along the blade and thrust it into his mouth, savoring the taste of elf-blood, a delicacy he had not tasted in a long time. Strength seemed to surge through Jabber and he unleashed an earsplitting roar. The reprieve was over, and he rushed at the wounded elf, not even noticing as the wolfhound and a pair of elves (Isa and Naur) slipped past him. The wounded elf stood upright to meet the troll, dodging the first wild swing of the axe that Jabber directed at him. The second time he was not so lucky, and the axes were sent spinning from his hands by the titanic impact of Jabber’s own.
Beltranc backed away, stumbling over the carcass of an orc as he sought to evade the troll, his strength failing. Even as he recovered his feet, Jabber’s blow struck him. The troll had struck not with the edge of his axe, but with the enormous rectangular back, a solid slab of iron that cannoned into the elf’s body and crushed him against the stone wall. All that could be seen of the Tirn were a pair of twitching legs below the axe. Jabber roared again in triumph and pulled the axe back with a sickening squelch; a heap of gore slid down from the crater that now indented the wall, leaving bits of flesh and bone and hair stuck in the cracks of the stone. The troll stepped forward, over rubble and the orc that had been Beltranc’s undoing, and seized one of the former Tirn’s legs. He laughed hoarsely; so he hadn’t gotten to eat the elf lord, one was as good as another! Jabber thought as his teeth sank into the leg and wrenched away a huge bite, which he devoured with relish.
~
Yarltang (orc), Garth (troll), & co. – Facing Nulda’s group
Garth swung his sapling at the running elf (Nulda), but the creature was too nimble and moved beneath the strike, his blades slicing into the side of the troll’s leg. A bellow shook the air as Garth expressed his displeasure; the wounds were not debilitating, having bitten into the thick flesh and heavily muscled side of his leg, rather than honing in on sinew or bone. Still, even to a troll such a wound was an irritant and his black eyes narrowed in cunning thought. Slowly Garth pursued the Authon, shaking his tree-club menacingly, the few leaves left upon its sparse boughs rattling, twigs scattering. He stalked the elf around the crumbling wall behind which it had hidden itself, out of view of the archers. A deep grunt which could almost have been a laugh escaped the troll, this one puny elfling with his two knives expected to defeat a hill-troll? Garth lunged at the elf as they drew close to emerging from behind the wall, swiping at him with the sapling from a high diagonal; he would take the beast’s head and have done with it.