The night seemed a little bit more peaceful. Quiet, in truth. Hame stood upon a boulder that overlooked the farms, it was silent, with the people crowding around Gastons house. Teams of what remains of the Greenway Guardsmen stood and sat at guard around the perimeter, as every ate, drank and spoke quietly. Though it wasn’t their silence that struck the Captain as strange, rather the silence coming from the Orc camp to the south.
“Standar, here.” he commanded, waving over one of the militia men. Standar was a large man, former carpenter in Stonehieght, though now wields his tools for the good of the men in the North. “Sir? Whats wrong?” he asked. Hame slid down the boulder and nodded toward the Orc camp to the south, his eyes straining to see. “Usually the orcs are howling and beating their drums.” he said, clearing his throat, moving to motion toward one of the other guardsmen before a hunting horn blew hard to their east, and was abruptly cut out.
All heads turned toward the sound as it echoed from the hills, and stared upon the rolling black mass of orcs that was illuminated by moonlight.
“To arms! To arms!” Roared the grizzled Captain, his sword in hand, and fitting his helm over his brow as the Greenway guard rallied to him, their shield-wall soon to formation, as the Militia took the rear, and flanks. The orcs seemed to number greatly, and their Chieftain led them, a great ugly brute at the head of his advancing Warband.
The Unarmed peoples looked around fearfully, pressing themselves closer against Gatsons house as though they’d be able to sink into the strong brick, though the attempts were futile as the orcs pressed closer. Hame pressed past the shields as looked upon the barricades, and waved his hand behind him, “Standar! Flames!” he growled, the man and a small team rushed forth, and set torches to the barricades. A plume of flame shot upward, as it started to circle them, except for the entrance. The Farms of Kingfell seemed to ring themselves in flame as the orcs advanced, their leader growled out orders in some darkened speech, and the Orc Warband shot forth in a sprint.
“Steady, men! When they come, we will give them the deaths they deserve! For Stonehieght, for Trestlebridge!” Roared Hame, lifting his blade overhead, the Greenway Guards growled and roared with him, instilling the Militia with hope, and prospect of victory. Hame slid back behind the shield wall, and took up his horn, “Steady!” he called, before pressing his lips to the horn, and blowing hard.
The orcs barrelled into the Shield wall, as they climbed over the entrances breaking it down as more, and more trampled upon it. Thankfully the orcs refrained from attempting to jump over the flaming barricade. Snarls and howls filled the night sky, as blade met shield. The Shieldwall slowly started to break, as men started to battle on their own, slaying orcs, and at times being slain themselves. Hame rushed forth, bringing his sword down to slam against the skull of one orc, cleaving into him as black blood sprayed. The Militia soon surged forward to join the melee, aiding the Greenway Guards in their battle.
It was chaotic, as the battle progress. Hame was matted with the blood of friend and foe, and raised his horn once again, blowing hard. The Chieftain of the Tarkrip orcs growled, having found Hame, abandoning his own fight to charge at the Captain. Hame was pinned down and the chieftain abandoned his weapon(which was an ugly spear) using his hands to wrap around Hames throat, and leaning down, snapping his jaws in the Captains face, intent to bite.
That is when the whistling of arrows came. Upon the hill behind the Orc advance, Huntsmen and brigands who were joined with Hames resistance, let loose their arrows into the Tarkrips rear and flanks, slaying them by the dozen after each volley. That is when the Tarkrip Warband broke, and started to fall back. The chieftain was about to lift Hame, in order to slam him back down, until Standar stepped forward and dug the edge of his chisel against the back of his head. The Greenway men gave chase, but returned as to not stray far from their advantage. Hame lay on the ground, panting heavily, and stared upward into the stars. The battle was won, though the war remains.
The hunting horn blared once again, twice. Hame sat on the bloody ground and stared at the sword beside him. He looked upward to look upon the remaining guardsmen, and men. They have lost just under twenty men that fight, the enemy lost too many to count, mostly in thanks to the hunters. The Huntsmen and brigands marched from their perch on the hill, to join the main press, aiding with the wounded, scavenging for arrows and weapons. Gatson was injured during the battle, though his farmhands were stitching him back up. The Battle was won this night.
