Bandits
The orc swung his huge axe and Finraer ducked under the rusty blade. He
had never been more scared in his life. Where had they come from? He had
returned from training to find his village in flames and a horde of the
ugly brutes running through the streets. The orc swung again, seeking to
drive Finraer into a corner. Terrified, Finraer picked up a pot from the
fire and, ignoring the heat, threw it at his attacker, striking a glancing
blow and dropping it temporarily to its knees. Turning away, Finraer ran
upstairs to find his parents.
He burst into the upstairs sleeping quarters to a scene of horror. A
startled orc turned to stare at him and Finraer screamed. It was not the
presence of the intruder however, his father lay, hacked to pieces, in the
middle of the room surrounded by the bodies of two dead invaders. Finraer
froze for a second and the orc, recovering, lunged towards him. Finraer
turned and ran blindly, throwing himself out of the top floor to avoid the
orc coming up the stairs.
The streets were worse. Invaders ran here and there, dragging terrified
villagers out of their house’s, slaying the old and weak in the streets
and burning the houses down in front of the survivors. The entire healthy
population was being herded clumsily into the village square. One of the
great brutes noticed the young Finraer and cried out. Finraer didn’t take
a second look as he ran into the forge. He picked up his father’s hammer,
not dissimilar to the warhammer that Finraer was beginning to show great
promise with in training. How he wished that Beorn was here with him now.
The grizzled cleric would know what to do and be more than a force to
reckon with against the greenskin band.
The door behind him slammed open and Finraer turned to face his enemy.
The orc raised his great, bloodied sword and cried out in challenge.
Finraer hefted the hammer, testing the balance for the last time and, with
a great cry to his god, Tempus, joined battle.
The orc was much clumsier than Beorn, his sparring opponent, and
Finraer blocked and parried the first few blows with ease. His skill with
his favourite warhammer, transferred easily to the impromptu use of his
father's tool of trade. However, nothing he had experienced under the expert
tutelage of Beorn had prepared him for the sheer ferocity of the orc’s
attack. Slowly, Finraer found himself being forced back and the blows
coming in started to catch him, one nicked him on the forehead and caused
a trickle of blood from his brow to blind him in one eye.
He backed away, blinking rapidly to clear his eyesight and then
tripped, crashing to the floor. His head hit the floor with a crack and he
stopped moving. As his sight faded to black he thought he saw the features
of the hideous orc as it moved in for the kill.
******
Finraer woke with a gasp. Sweat covered his body and the sheets from
his bed lay on the floor of the room, thrown there during his fevered
nightmare. It had been some time since he had last had the nightmare and
it never boded well. With a shiver, he wondered what else was going to go
wrong. |
