Griporm the Bloodied

The whole lodge had come together this evening to listen to the bloody tale of triumph against the hated black blood. 

Griporm, the man of the hour, dominated the center space of the domed hut oozing with pride. 

***
 
All the familiar ambience of the forest was drowned out by the hammering of his heart and thumping of footsteps. The rugged warriors were on the hunt for the remnants of orc kind whom had made the grave mistake of intruding on their warded lands. Griporm, like the other youngsters, had been sent ahead alone to scatter into the trees to locate their fleeing quarry.

Each of them had been issued a horn to call for their kin and converge together on their foe. Griporm held his in a white-knuckled grip as he followed the path of trampled earth, stricken flora, and silenced birds. He was close.

***

"All you well know what deeds we set out to do that day!" Griporm begun, lifting his voice high with his head, savouring the attentions trained his way. "These black blooded scum made the fool mistake to invade on our domain, to cause distress and harm to land and beasts under our protection! Our warriors fell upon them like wolves upon deer, they were driven on the chase, and I--!"

"Yes, yes! We all know it well! Why, you ask?" One of the scarred warriors rumbled impatiently. "Because we were there. The story!"

"Yes, the story!" Griporm's jaw clenched and held back a caustic retort, quickly reassuming his momentum. "I had come upon the trail of these vile fell-things, I drew my horn ready to make the call... alas, they had heard of my coming and laid in ambush, my horn was lost no sooner than I could strike!"

***

"And now, maggot-spawn," hissed an orc with a cloven nose breathily, his rancid visage made truly grotesque by a bloody split down its face from a recent altercation. Around him lay the expired corpses of the rest of his band, three of their own numbers cut down amidst sudden infighting. 

"I lead this band! I do, me! Or do you have protests? Do you object to my claim, Grrsshnûk?!" He thrust a hooked sword in the direction of one an ork leaning heavily upon his crude spear. "Or do you, wormlicker?" His feverish eyes cast upon a hunched figure on stunted legs. 

Grsshhnûk peeled back his upper lip and sneered with rotted, jagged teeth. "I will adress your impotent sputtering when we are back in the pits. You are wasting time."

Worm-licker meekly bent his head down low, averting his slanted gaze. "N-No! No protests! No objections!" He quavered pathetically. 

Griporm clenched his lips shut, the whistle of air rapidly winding through his teeth rustling in his ears. He willed his nerves to calm and wound the grip on spear and horn tight, raising the latter to his lips. A deep breath, lips shut around the horn. Peering around its broad stem he watched the trio of black bloods argue among themselves. Three already dead. They only had to slay three more. They would share in the glory. 

He lowered the horn. Then he dropped it.

***

"They surged upon me like a tide of black death, striking, screaming for my blood! But my courage held, my shield did too, and I struck back! My spear soared and descended death, my axe slew another no sooner than his weapon could stir!" Griporm raised his arms, paused for effect, then bellowed. "To them I cried! Your doom is met at the hands of Griporm, son of Grimbald!"

***

The few moments Griporm dedicated to carefully arranging the words on his tongue, his battle cry for when he alone would seize the glory of slaying the lodge's foes by himself. His spear arm flexed and his shoulder bent to make the killing blow he had practiced times uncounted throughout his childhood for this one moment, let it fly to deliver sure death on his mark. 

He missed.

The embedded itself in the dirt between the three orcs. Cloven-nose let out a cry of alarm, Grrsshnûk whirled round towards the woods searchingly by the point of his spear, and Worm-licker leapt away with a shriek. Griporm's elaborate challenge knotted itself and bumbled on his tongue and instead he gave voice to an incoherent scream borne of fear and excitement.

"Yeeeaaaarrruurrrgghhhhhh!" 

He fell upon Cloven-nose with desperate fury, setting his nimble axe swinging for his head. The orc bellowed and parried with his hooked saber, the pair of them staggered sideways with impact, and another blow fell just short of its mark. Cloven-nose retaliated and slashed high, the keen blade filled Griporm's field of vision through the open-faced helmet, slicing a furrow in his head-guard and drawing blood across his cheek.

First blood drawn, Griporm was possessed by smoldering wrath and hurled his weight forwards with reckless abondon. The ax rose in a vicious arc, Cloven-nose parried low but the bladed wedge turned course and rose high.

Thhchhhunk!

A wet crunch followed by no scream of curse from the orc coursed roared through his ears. The ax cleaved his skull in twain upon the same gap where the task had already been attempted once, Griporm met with more success than the last for the orc was slain. 

Or so he thought, his shout of triumph choked in fright as the orc's wiggled and strained against the wedge driven deep into its head. Its arms aimlessly batted towards Griporm limply and sloppily as a pair of sausages. He jerked backwards on the haft only to find with renewed horror that the ax was stuck!

"Let go! Let go, curse you and your blood to the nether!" Griporm bellowed. He sprung cold sweats and horror as Grrsshnûk closed charging with his spear toward the pinned Man, ineffectually jerking away at the weapon trapped in orc flesh. Wrenching with all his might he turned the flopping carcass stuck on the killing end of his haft to face the closing foe, and Cloven-nose was pierced now from the back as well as the front, not one but two weapons stuck there. 

***

"... In and out of the carnage I whirled, black blood fell as rain, I slashed, I stepped, I slew!"

Children gasped and squeaked with awe and fright; sour-faced youths of his own age listened bitterly to the story of glory they had missed; elders listened with tight-lipped smiles thoroughly amused though their eyes made no secret of their skepticism.

***

Cloven-nose's death throes came to an end at last and he limply jerked this way and that like a great fish caught between two boats, Griporm and Grrsshnûk struggled in a queer tug-of-war as their weapons would not give way. 

With a final surge of extertion the ax came loose and he spun in time to meat Worm-licker whom closed from behind to cowardly strike him in the back. A long blade thunked to a halt narrowly upon the base of his shield, then struck back, again, and another time upon his sword, his arm, his face. Worm-licker let out a warbled cry and clutched at his jaw as he staggered, turned, and begun to flee. Griporm lunged swiftly and hooked his crooked ankle by the beard of his axe and dragged him low. 

Not daring to lose his speed Griporm scrambled forwards, aimlessly descending his ax with brutal carelessness upon the prone form of the shrieking figure underneath him. Mid-turn fiery pain burst through his leg, crying in wrath he fell to a knee. He did not see the next spear blow thrust for his throat, his shield arm rose as the product of countless hours of training seeing fruit for the first time. The impact shuddered through his arm, his fingers ached around the handle. 

He peeked over the brim, finding Grrsshnûk towering tall from his compromised position, far taller than he had any right to be. Anger gave way to his second wind. 

***
"I was outnumbered, severely so I was! But I was trained to slay and battle evil by my father, Grimbald Wargbane, and against him nor I shall numbers prevail!"

Grimbald Wargbane's smile was even more smug than his son's. He actively sought eye contact among the other elders of the lodge to express his 'look at my prize hog' pride to anyone who suffered his gaze. 

***
Furious strikes hammered away against Griporm's shield, each thrust sent fresh pain through his hand and arm, every blow tested the limits of his stamina and nerve. Pushing to his feet through the pain he pushed forwards, meeting the next high jab with his spear. The sharp point skid off wood and went low, embedding itself into his thigh through the boiled plates of leather. He could not feel the pain so much as he felt his blood boil with wrath.. Griporm wanted to slay. And now an irritating shaft of wood stood in his way. 

His shield arm rose high before sending the battered thing towards his foe. Grrsshnûk startled and reared backwards, dazed as the edge of hardwood punched him in the chin. Griporm pressed the advantage, punishing him for the inflexibility of his weapon, on stumbling steps he clenched the spear haft hand hold by hand hold as he closed in. With a final battle cry Griporm swung his ax overhead, then cried louder as his wrist was checked by a strong hand. 

With the last reserves of strength he hurled his body forwards and crashed to the bloody ground on top of the grim-faced orc. Grrssnhûk sputtered insults that fell on deaf ears, from Griporm came only inscrutable torrents of frothing murder. Both hands fumbled againt the wrist that strained to lower the ax upon his head. But Griporm's off-hand was now unburdened by a shield, and so drew his belt knife, and struck low. 

The next few moments were a haze of black blood and flashing visions. Exhilaration and agony came at once as the rush of the battle first begun to peter out, looming over the fallen remnants of his final foe, Griporm reared his head and laughed, it was all he could do but to weep in fear, scream in pain, or curse at his folly. 

Instead he laughed. He did not share in the glory today. 

Griporm took it all for himself. 

***
"We have heard enough!" A wild-haired woman said seriously and rose to her feet, and so did the men in scattered unison. 

Griporm shut up. He stared expectantly, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Then he sobered and inclined his head, deeper than he needed to. 

She watched him with hard eyes, weighing him, judging, measuring. Took pleasure in seeing the first signs of sweat beading on his forehead. He humbled himself, only because he must, she knew. It was good for him to learn humility.

"You have bloodied yourself, Griporm, son of Grimbald. I will paint the mark on you." 

There was an uproarious bellow of mirth erupting from one corner of the lodge that drew no small number of grim-faced glares. 

Grimbald, father of Griporm, carelessly beamed with pride. 

***

Griporm slowly surveyed the remnants of the skirmish, chafing against his wounds that now no longer were dulled by excitement. He raised the horn to his lips, took a deep breath, then winced as he realized there was an uncomfortable warmth in his trousers. 

Foregoing the immediate need for attention to his wounds, he instead hurried down towards the nearest stream. 

***

Griporm the Bloodied grinned, so none could see.