Massacre at Deathfist Citadel -Part 3 (updated)

Massacre at Deathfist Citadel – Part 3

Many of the orcs paused in their advance, suddenly feeling less optimistic about their numbers. Among them stood Captain Goortz, well aware of the presence of Zorg’s bodyguards behind him. He knew full well what their orders were. If he lost the gate to the enemy, he’d lose his limbs to Zorg.

With no alternative he charged forward to the head of the orc force, as they were about to meet the undead incursion. “Come on you slugs. They died once, so they must be easy to kill again!” To illustrate the point he drew his twin hand axes and tore into the nearest skeletal warrior. He smashed and splintered bone after bone until it finally collapsed into a ruined pile, the skeleton’s frame no longer able to support itself. Rallied by their commander the rest of the orc vanguard charged into army of the damned.

--

Zorg grunted from the top of the wall. The archers had been given a brief respite as the three Dawnwatcher scouts rejoined their main force among the walking dead. However now that combat had begun they could only fire at targets furthest away from their own men. He slapped the bow out of the nearest archer’s hands, “Go get the engineers. We need da mangonels operational.”

“Umm boss, we can’t use the mangonels once the melee starts can we?”

“Oh yes we can!” he snarled, making sure there would be no more arguments. They just needed to hold the outer gate for a while. Now that daybreak had come a battalion’s worth of men would be returning from Deathfist mine to change shifts. This band of freaks and their dead friends would soon be in for the beating of their lives!

--

Bloodfire screamed its appreciation to Vallasch as he swung it high, parting an orcs head from its shoulders. He spun around to find the next victim, ducking just in enough time to prevent his own head being claimed and tore Bloodfire through his attacker’s legs. He stood atop the fallen orc and pushed the black sword into its chest, slowly and painfully. He took a minute to catch his breath while any nearby potential enemies were dead, dying or undead. He leaned on Bloodfire while it was still planted in his foe and surveyed the carnage.

His mistress was content. Happily challenging herself to put as many cuts into her opponents as she could before they could fall to the ground. He caught site of Sreggid across battlefield who met his gaze. He inclined his head to Vallasch before going back to work. Now that he had put his bow away, Sreggid had resorted to his signature move. He would wait for the orcs to make the first move, parrying their attack with his cutlass. Then he’d disembowel them in a vicious riposte with his triple-bladed punching claw, watching as his enemies tried to catch their spilling intestines.

All around him the orcs hacked wildly while the dead reared up and groped at their flesh. He was not far from the gatehouse now. He could clearly see what looked like the bulky form of the enemy vanguard’s commanding officer and a group of bodyguards, but there were still several yards worth of orcs and undead to wade through first. His attention was suddenly snapped form the bigger picture as the skeletal warrior only a few metres away was suddenly thrown backwards several feet and an orc grunt surged through the undead line towards him, a falchion raised high in his hands. Rather than free his sword and make a quick and weak parry, Vallasch stood stock-still and let a grin spread across his face.

He reminded himself of how much he loathed these wretched creatures. They were filthy vermin that should be hunted down for sport until the whole world was purged of their infestation. He let the fires of hate stoke inside of him like a furnace, burning with black fire. An instant before the orc’s falchion came slashing down, Vallasch leapt back with a flash of blinding blue light. The dark elf vanished behind a pillar of pure shadow as it burst from the ground where he had previously been standing, and thrashed about in a thick tendril. The orc cut wildly in all directions for fear that the dark elf was hiding within the oily mist, only to pause abruptly as he felt the friction of Bloodfire caress his spinal column as it was plunged into his back and erupted from his stomach in red cascade.

Vallasch lay his free hand on the orc’s shoulder, “Do try harder in your next life; will you?” He put his boot into the back of the still standing orc and wrenched the sword free, causing his still dying opponent to tumble. He crouched onto his haunches next to the orc as its life seeped away and without preamble he slapped his gauntlet against the beasts bare chest. He focused all of his will and malice upon the creature, reaching into it with tendrils of hate and trying to grasp all of the evil and fury inside it’s dying heart. With a mental claw he latched onto the bitterness he found there, all the hate and anger towards him of having it’s life cut short, and tore it out of the orc’s corpse. He stood tall with his arm raised high and a glossy black stone clenched inside his armoured fist that seemed to quiver as though its core were liquid.

Vallasch decided that if he were going to survey the situation a little longer, he’d need a diversion. He hurled the tainted essence onto the ground and it shattered open like glass, tossing the writhing core into the air. It convulsed and screamed as it began to draw organic materials to itself from the physical plane, forming a roughly human shape. “Come to me creature of sinew and spite, the prince of hate commands!” Vallasch roared, making sure the undead beast new exactly who was master. The wight regarded him expressionlessly from empty eye sockets and its mouth hung open like a gaping maw of needles. The exposed muscles of its limbs were slick with blood, which dripped from huge tridactyl talons. Gore sputtered out of it’s throat in a ragged rasp as it tried to speak with rotting vocal chords. “What is it!?” the monster shrieked with rage and what seemed like impatience. Vallasch pointed at the shambling melee as other orcs tried to push through the ranks of the lumbering dead. He spoke only two words to the wight, slowly and with commanding vehemence. “Orcs, Eviscerate!”