Orcs of the Red Blade

Sounds of the battle were dying down just as the sun was raising up. He looked down at his red hands, stained with human blood. It was an invigorating sight to see, blood and the hammer in his hands. Somewhere in his mind it bothered him, using a good smiting hammer as a weapon. Wrong use for a tool, but desperate times were desperate.  Still the lust of battle was strong in his veins as it made him feel alive and turned his thoughts to the past.

Those thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crying. He started to look around to locate the source. Odd sound on a battlefield, rage for the lost was more of what he was used to when it came to battles. Or was that crying at all, laughter? Hard to tell. Finally his eyes found the source, a body laying on the bloody ground. Missing an arm and face too as it seemed. But there was a form of another orc laying against it, face buried to the blood-soaked clothing. He got curious, and so started to approach. As he got closer he realized he knew both of the orcs. A shattered bone-mask on the ground, one armed orc, a younger orc. Not many Laughing Skull at the camp, let alone one armed females. It had to be Raka One-arm, so that younger orc must be her daughter. Explains the crying, no proper training in the camps. No hardening.

As he watched the scene, his battle-lust was slowly replaced by pity. Young orphaned orc, non-existent clan making her such. No proper training, even if she had been the pest of any blacksmith in the camp, orc or human. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a shout, calling all orcs to get ready before any human reinforcements would arrive. So he made a decision and approached the young orc with his hammer ready to strike.

Later he walked out of the camp with the rest of the newly freed orcs. On his shoulder he carried a knocked out young orc. The thought of training new apprentice did give him a good feeling for the start of his new life.