The Grimtotem Slaughter

[Morgeth]

((Aka. Getting Osan and Mazguul back. I was a bit tired when I wrote this, so I reckon it's very drama-esk and all, and alot more fancy than Morgeth actually was when she tried to lead the orcs. But anyway, I hope it's still enjoyable!))




The once tranquil woods of Feralas seemed a thing of the past, as the flame of the Grimtotem tauren encampment grew higher. In the midst of the recently fought battle, the stench of the burning hay and leather had all but consumed the equally strong scent of recent bloodspill and death.
The warlock walked amongst the ruins, and from her fingers the most vile of flame came to life. It lashed out to consume its surroundings, and as the fat began to boil within the furred hides of the tauren, the sound of cold metal was heard. This very sound seemed, in fact, to be carried in the winds along with the sound of several pair of feet, swiftly moving from one target to another.
Four orcs, each and every one of them clad in plate, worked their way around the encampment. Now and then they stopped, paying attention to what laid on the ground in front of them. On occasion, this attention caused a muffled scream to depart from a the throat of a dying tauren, but no matter what sound preceded it; you could soon hear how flesh got carved and hacked apart.
One could not call these savage warriors coldhearted, especially not since their blood boiled with the rewarding fill of battle, and the knowledge that they had bested their enemy. Cries of victory echoed all around this valley of death, and the warriors finally turned to gather around the warlock in the middle of their stage of carnage. Their hands united as they were raised towards the sky, and each orc held the their prize up high. From the hair within each cleansed fist hung five heads, freshly carved from the fallen bodies.
The female orc turned around, her heavy robes dragged into the muddied mess of blood and dirt, and from her lips erupted a loud roar.
"Orcs! We move back! Let t'is day be remembered 'mongst th'Grimtotem. Let 't be known - th'Red blade tribe know only one way t'answer t'threats made to its pack!"
The answer; it was written across every face of those tauren left intact, it was written over the grass - now stale with blood - and in the wind, that whipped the ashes of the burning buildings up towards the sky.
True to the command, the small party of orcs withdrew back to their base, leaving in their wake naught but such destruction that the rays of the sun to dawn the next morning ought to be afraid of shedding too much light.

[Kozgugore]

(( Very nice depiction of events indeed! Although I wasn't there, I can just imagine all ze glorious slaughter of ze guilty! *Fiddles villain moustache* Genocide to all them Grimtotem! Lovely, little draft. And thanks to the orcs for making it possible! ))

[Mazguul]

(( Marverlous fun! And thankies again to those who saved our green arses.

Beautifully written, Morgeth ))

[Vargosh]

((Lovely written. Really liked it! ))

[Morgeth]

((Thank you for the feedback <3 I wish I had time to write even more.))