Gannarak
03-06-2006, 02:00 PM
This is a little tale I used to tell my son when he was real young, back in the days when I was but a peon, it is a tale of courage, valor and honor, the tale of warriors long forgotten that fought for the Horde. Some would say it is not fit for a child, but the world is a cruel place and I like to believe that my son knew what he was getting into when he set out in adventures of his own. So here is how it goes.
It was a dark moonless night, the day before the battle. A dozen of orc warriors were sitting down around a campfire set out right down a small cliff. The warriors were looking at the dying flame as heavy rain poured on there tarnished armor. Their axes covered in dry blood were a reminder of all the battles faced together. They knew that the enemy was nearby. Not far away, a troop of humans were probably gazing at the flames of a dying fire, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. One of the warriors was shaking nervously. Why was he here? Why did he have to die for people he did not know? Was it worth it?
The other warriors looked at the fire with a grim look on their face. They were given orders to guard this area with their lives, and they knew the enemy had sharper blades and tougher armors. Voltar looked at the rusted plates of metal on his gauntlets and then looked at his shaking friend:
"Grab your stuff... we're leaving..."
Voltar hoped the night would give them the cover they needed to take the humans by surprise and swiftly claim victory, but humans had sharp eyes, they would see through the ruse, that is, if they did not already began their own deployment. Voltar grabbed his axe and took a look over the cliff. Nothing in sight, but his eyes had yet to get used to the dark night, with no stars or moon, he could not see farther than a few yards ahead. Either way, he could not remain here. He hoped he could spot the campfire of the humans within the utter darkness, or better yet, maybe the humans took torches with them. If it was the case, he could spot them easily.
Walking through the muddy terrain, the orcs took careful measures to keep the clinging of their armor as low as possible, taking baby steps across the plain. The rain began to clear, and nothing but the sound of the orcs could be heard, it was almost maddening. They had walked for what seemed to be an eternity, when Voltar decided to stop to rethink the strategy. With surprise on his face, Voltar whispered to the others:
"Where is Nagrat!?"
The warriors looked around and their shaky friend was nowhere to be found. Did he run away? No orc worthy of this name could have possibly done such a thing. The humans, they were closer than they thought. Holding their axe firmly, the warriors set out in a circle to avoid exposing their back. The shadows twisted around them; was it the wind in the tall weeds or humans sneaking around? Ready for anything, they waited for the humans to strike again.
It was to long before one of them screamed in pain as a sharp blade punctured with deadly accuracy the flank of one of the warriors. Flying in a mad rage, the warrior began to swing his axe at the agile human. The human dodged all the blows, and since the axe is such a slow weapon, he could even land a blow or two in between each swing. Voltar and the other warrio quickly turned to help their comrade, but it gave the remaining humans just enough time to strike at their now exposed back. Voltar was quickly left alone as his comrades fell under the precise blows of the humans. Wounded and weak, Voltar was surrounded by his enemies.
Now at this point in the story, my son turned to me and asked, with his face half hidden under the covers, his big eyes staring at me with both interest and fear:
"Did Voltar killed the wicked humans?”
What do you answer the child; do you tell him the truth, that Voltar was massacred by the humans, or do you tell him Voltar saved the day and took them out on by one ? The whole purpose of this story was to show him you can't always win, but there was also another lesson, and we will come to that, and so I continued the story.
Voltar charged one of the humans and took his arm with a mighty blow of his weapon. Infuriated by the lost of his companions, Voltar ignored his wounds kept on fighting. Two other humans went for his knees to keep him from moving. Has his body weight crushed what was left of his legs; Voltar drove his axe in the back of another human. Another of the agile warriors took the opportunity to disarm Voltar and kick his weapon in the tall grass. Voltar turned around and looked at the humans. One of them got his knife to Voltar's troath with a smile on his face. With lightning fast reflexes, Voltar got a crude knife out of chink in his armor and stabbed the human in the arm, making him drop his blade.
The orc warrior wanted to laugh, but he felt the cold iron of another blade slowly penetrate his flank, right through the kidney. Voltar became weak, and was slowly losing control of his arms as they felt heavier and heavier. He rested his head in the wet grass and gazed at the stars, he would not live through this night. The humans proceeded to close the eyes of the orcs and quickly left the scene.
My son then looked at me with confusion in his eyes:
"But, if the orcs died, how can this story be true ? No one lived to tell it !"
I leaned on the boy and looked at him the eyes:
"Wrong child, one orc lived to tell the tale: You remember Nagrat, the first one to disappear. Well Nagrat was attacked by the humans but after the first blow he decided not to get up, to act as if the very first blow had killed him. He crawled to the fight scene after and saw the whole battle, but he was too scared to get up and fight. He could have saved Voltar, but now he had to go back and tell Voltar's wife and children this story, of course, in his version, he was knocked out. You see my son, a true orc would have stayed and fight, a true orc would have died for his friends; he would have tried! You must never give up on your friends, anybody who does not understand that does not deserve to be part of the Horde. And like Voltar, never give up, there is always hope."
We must always remember that the sacrifices of our brothers should never be in vain. When surrounded by the enemy, instead of cowering, fight! Fight to the bitter end and take down as many as you can before dying! Run if you can save the day, but do not run only to leave your comrades to die and save your own life. Heroes are not always those who slay mighty dragons or take down many foes, heroes are also those who never give up.
We shall never give up on our dreams, and the Horde shall always stand mighty and proud.
--Gannarak--
((this is my first story, please leave some constructive comments))
It was a dark moonless night, the day before the battle. A dozen of orc warriors were sitting down around a campfire set out right down a small cliff. The warriors were looking at the dying flame as heavy rain poured on there tarnished armor. Their axes covered in dry blood were a reminder of all the battles faced together. They knew that the enemy was nearby. Not far away, a troop of humans were probably gazing at the flames of a dying fire, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. One of the warriors was shaking nervously. Why was he here? Why did he have to die for people he did not know? Was it worth it?
The other warriors looked at the fire with a grim look on their face. They were given orders to guard this area with their lives, and they knew the enemy had sharper blades and tougher armors. Voltar looked at the rusted plates of metal on his gauntlets and then looked at his shaking friend:
"Grab your stuff... we're leaving..."
Voltar hoped the night would give them the cover they needed to take the humans by surprise and swiftly claim victory, but humans had sharp eyes, they would see through the ruse, that is, if they did not already began their own deployment. Voltar grabbed his axe and took a look over the cliff. Nothing in sight, but his eyes had yet to get used to the dark night, with no stars or moon, he could not see farther than a few yards ahead. Either way, he could not remain here. He hoped he could spot the campfire of the humans within the utter darkness, or better yet, maybe the humans took torches with them. If it was the case, he could spot them easily.
Walking through the muddy terrain, the orcs took careful measures to keep the clinging of their armor as low as possible, taking baby steps across the plain. The rain began to clear, and nothing but the sound of the orcs could be heard, it was almost maddening. They had walked for what seemed to be an eternity, when Voltar decided to stop to rethink the strategy. With surprise on his face, Voltar whispered to the others:
"Where is Nagrat!?"
The warriors looked around and their shaky friend was nowhere to be found. Did he run away? No orc worthy of this name could have possibly done such a thing. The humans, they were closer than they thought. Holding their axe firmly, the warriors set out in a circle to avoid exposing their back. The shadows twisted around them; was it the wind in the tall weeds or humans sneaking around? Ready for anything, they waited for the humans to strike again.
It was to long before one of them screamed in pain as a sharp blade punctured with deadly accuracy the flank of one of the warriors. Flying in a mad rage, the warrior began to swing his axe at the agile human. The human dodged all the blows, and since the axe is such a slow weapon, he could even land a blow or two in between each swing. Voltar and the other warrio quickly turned to help their comrade, but it gave the remaining humans just enough time to strike at their now exposed back. Voltar was quickly left alone as his comrades fell under the precise blows of the humans. Wounded and weak, Voltar was surrounded by his enemies.
Now at this point in the story, my son turned to me and asked, with his face half hidden under the covers, his big eyes staring at me with both interest and fear:
"Did Voltar killed the wicked humans?”
What do you answer the child; do you tell him the truth, that Voltar was massacred by the humans, or do you tell him Voltar saved the day and took them out on by one ? The whole purpose of this story was to show him you can't always win, but there was also another lesson, and we will come to that, and so I continued the story.
Voltar charged one of the humans and took his arm with a mighty blow of his weapon. Infuriated by the lost of his companions, Voltar ignored his wounds kept on fighting. Two other humans went for his knees to keep him from moving. Has his body weight crushed what was left of his legs; Voltar drove his axe in the back of another human. Another of the agile warriors took the opportunity to disarm Voltar and kick his weapon in the tall grass. Voltar turned around and looked at the humans. One of them got his knife to Voltar's troath with a smile on his face. With lightning fast reflexes, Voltar got a crude knife out of chink in his armor and stabbed the human in the arm, making him drop his blade.
The orc warrior wanted to laugh, but he felt the cold iron of another blade slowly penetrate his flank, right through the kidney. Voltar became weak, and was slowly losing control of his arms as they felt heavier and heavier. He rested his head in the wet grass and gazed at the stars, he would not live through this night. The humans proceeded to close the eyes of the orcs and quickly left the scene.
My son then looked at me with confusion in his eyes:
"But, if the orcs died, how can this story be true ? No one lived to tell it !"
I leaned on the boy and looked at him the eyes:
"Wrong child, one orc lived to tell the tale: You remember Nagrat, the first one to disappear. Well Nagrat was attacked by the humans but after the first blow he decided not to get up, to act as if the very first blow had killed him. He crawled to the fight scene after and saw the whole battle, but he was too scared to get up and fight. He could have saved Voltar, but now he had to go back and tell Voltar's wife and children this story, of course, in his version, he was knocked out. You see my son, a true orc would have stayed and fight, a true orc would have died for his friends; he would have tried! You must never give up on your friends, anybody who does not understand that does not deserve to be part of the Horde. And like Voltar, never give up, there is always hope."
We must always remember that the sacrifices of our brothers should never be in vain. When surrounded by the enemy, instead of cowering, fight! Fight to the bitter end and take down as many as you can before dying! Run if you can save the day, but do not run only to leave your comrades to die and save your own life. Heroes are not always those who slay mighty dragons or take down many foes, heroes are also those who never give up.
We shall never give up on our dreams, and the Horde shall always stand mighty and proud.
--Gannarak--
((this is my first story, please leave some constructive comments))