Seraile sat outside in the shadow under the spiked rough, wooden fence holding a small crossbow, small, but powerful enough to send a bolt straight through the chest of an armoured man and into the man behind him.
He glances sideways as the black clothed figures sitting stock still along the fence too, a range of bows and cross bows in their hands.
He heard a rough, gravelly voice talking over the fence in a strange language, he glances over his shoulder, pulling out a small, dark bolt, the tip had a slight green tinge, he fitted it to the crossbow and prepared to shoot any moment.
Looking through a small hole between the stood up logs he saw two brutish looking orcs, carrying a sackcloth bag that looked oddly shaped, something inside it seemed to be struggling, as if trying to get out. Their target.
Seraile signalled to the men closest to him, who relayed it to the people down and along the fence.
Pulling up his mask, to cover the lower half of his face, he started counting in his mind, One…. Two... Three… Four… Five… Six… He felt his muscles tighten under the hidden armour, he took a deep breath…Ten… All the men around the wooden fence stoop up at once, and fired their bows and crossbows, the two orcs fell on the floor, dropping the bag, their bodies covered in arrows and bolts.
The largest of the orcs, a large creature with rough, crude metal shoulder guards and a loincloth covering his middle area, with white hands over red paint on his torso turned round and shouted in the rough tongue used by orcs. Five of them appeared at the entrance to the small area.
Seraile glanced at two of the men and nodded, a moment later, drawing Durmegil and Gurth Sigil, he charged, followed by all the other men, brandishing the blades the runes carved on their blades shimmering in the fire like molten metal, The large orc drew a wide, black blade that looked more like a cleaver than a sword, except for its length, and swung it in a great circle in front of him, Seraile leaped sideways swiftly, avoiding the blade and engaged the orc, blocking a blow and aiming a stab with his dagger, Gurth Sigil to his arm, it missed by a hairs breadth, he could hear the other orcs getting engaged by the other men, the sound of clashing swords, maces and daggers ringing throughout the desolate night.
The two men, whom Seraile has nodded to, had taken the sackcloth bag and leapt back over the fencing back to the small camp not far away, just as more orcs started running into the small area.
Seraile swung Durmegil in a great circle over his shoulder, aiming to distract the orc, Durmegil caught the cross guard of the crude weapon, turning it sharply he twisted the sword out of the orcs hand, disarming him, and running the blade through the base of his neck, vile blood covering the blade.
Pushing the orc off the blade, Seraile turned around, his men were faring well, most of the orcs were dead, but a few were hiding behind the entrance to the small area, he noticed, and walked calmly towards them, sheathing Gurth Sigil and grabbing the Hand-and-a-half hilt of Durmegil with both hands.
Grinning he puts the sword through a slim gap between the stood up trunks, and hearing the shout of an orc on the other side, and the deadweight on the blade, he’d take one down, Whipping the sword out, he turned round the corner, decapitated one directly in front of him, and lunging ahead, running his blade into the chest of another.
Pain Erupted a few inches above his knee, he couldn’t move, his leg was stuck to the fencing, a crude, black arrow protruding from the inside of it, he turned his head to the direction the arrow came from, there stood an orc with a large bow knocking and drawing the string, Seraile lifted his right arm, aiming, he suddenly opened his hand and a blade sprang out of the bottom of the glove, flying through the air, hitting the orc in the forehead. He fell down backwards, dropping the bow.
Darn it… He thought, drawing Gurth Sigil and cutting the arrow between his leg and the fencing, and clenching his jaw, yanking it out, blood streaming down his leg.
Cursing, he sheathed Gurth Sigil and drew a throwing knife from behind his back and threw it at an orc, where it buried itself in the side of its neck, sending the orc writhing to the ground.
Seraile whipped round as an orc ran in, hearing the commotion, wishing it to end, Seraile leaped on a barrel and up high in the air, the orc just followed him, startles, till Seraile landed on his shoulders, too later, as Seraile drove Durmegil into the orc’s sternum, the blade shimmering in the firelight reflecting upon the blood that covered it.
He got up and looked around, all was silent, his men were mostly fine, a couple of wounds, but no fatalities… Sheathing Durmegil he walked to the small area where the large orc was, he opened a small iron bound chest by kicking the lock and took the contents, being a roll of dirty and ripped parchment and a medallion with a symbol etched on it.
He turned to a cloaked and masked man, his eyes were dark brown, sharp, knowing.
“Is she alright?” Asked Seraile, “Aye” Answered the man adding “… she will wake up at dawn by my reckoning, she isn’t injured, but they knocked her out, it will leave a bruise”.
“as Long as she doesn’t die” Said Seraile grimly, now surveying the fighting ground, small streams of blood were going down the very slight hill, joining into quite a large flow, and building up where when it rained there must have been a puddle.
“Leave the bodies, let the scavengers have them… they deserve nothing less for the death and destruction they reap upon us.” He turned around and kneels down, grinding his teeth, feeling a jolt of pain shoot up his leg from his wound.
Glancing at one of the orc’s helms he picked it up and examined it closely, it had a white hand painted on it, it was very crude and clumsily made. He tied it to his belt under his cloak, out of sight.
“Lets go… our work here is done, time to let nature get revenge on this scum.” Announced Seraile, walking out of the camp.
He whistled, a dark chestnut steed trotted towards him from where he hid him amongst a small clump of trees nearby. He mounted up and waited all his men to do so, then trotted back into the countryside, going back to their headquarters, leaving the woman to wake up in the tent at dawn with a campfire and a pack of fresh meat, vegetable and berries for her.
