The Amberglade Incident

[Raxxok]

     The Orcs have a great history and for a long time I was planning on making a short story series about the Internment Camps, so I bucked up and finished some of my writing I did ages ago and wanted to share it with you folks! The story takes place in a camp called Amberglade, as you may have guessed.
     
     It's located in Hillsbrad in the story, and is operated by a less than friendly group of humans.  I've gone for what I think is a gritty feel to the Orcs slavery.
     
     Each entry will have a point of view stated at the start, alternating between Human and Orc.  An intergral part of this series is that none of the two groups understand eachother, Orcs don't speak Common and Humans don't speak Orcish.

     Hope you enjoy!



The Amberglade Incident

Human View

Whips cracked loudly as the horses cried, tugging along a large cartridge down the soggy roads of Hillsbrad.  Between the thick iron bars large green fingers emerged to seemingly grasp a chance for air to touch their skin.  A wiry human named Pritchards was at the helm of this beast, shouting at the horses and taunting the inhabitants of the carriage. A tall man with a pale complexion, his black hair was tied into a ponytail that was strewn down his back.

"Gho'ruk num bu--" the murmurs inside the carriage were soon replaced by a startled yelp as the thick black whip cracked against the iron bars.

"No sound you scum!" Pritchards bellowed to the beasts, launching a volley of spit through the opening.

The thick glob landed on the cheek of a female Orc, she looked down to the floor as her eyes began to moisten, the numerous sets of red eyes were fixated on her.  The captured Orcs were beaten, their spirit was gone and they seemed to be powerless.  Many of the Orcs merely watched as the spit trickled down he cheek and fell into a puddle upon the floor. Infants wailed and the mothers rocked them steadily in their arms, humming melodies to their young ones. Another thick crack against the side of the carriage resonated in the forests,  Pritchards dismounted his seat and approached the side of the carriage.  His breathing was heavy, his lips curled and he pushed the side of the carriage with a thud.

"Shut that whelp up!" Pritchards barked, his face reddening in anger.

The infants wailed even louder now, the younger Orcs huddled into corners and the females trying desperately to quiet their newborns.  The large burly males sat still, their eyes half open and fixated on the floor. With each deep breath the males would seem to enlarge, their giant physiques rippled with muscles and yet, they were docile, broken-- lost.
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"Anderson reports we have two more groups coming in by the end of this month, we need to send notice to the kingdom that taxes much be pushed fourth harder, we can't keep them fed at the rate we're pulling them in." Spoke a man in a military garment, white wisps of hair crept out from under his cap.
"Well then maybe we should just not feed them, let them eat the ones who die on the marches-- I wouldn't put cannibalism past these animals."

The pair of men smirked broadly, the younger man was Brandon Rice, a young farmhand from Alterac who took a job at the camps to provide for his newly taken wife.  The older man was Henry Walsh, a decorated veteran who was less than pleased to be keeping watch over the beasts that massacred his men in the wars.

"Well--" Walsh stopped to take a hefty puff from his pipe while he flicked the match out by his side.  "They are not seeming to cause any unrest, damned unlike them too.  I've seen a greenskin carve men in half with something as small as this." Walsh held up a silver dinner knife towards the young Brandon.  "Don't need much to keep their filth in order, couple of men with an iron will and a hate for greenskins does the camp just fine."

"I know what you mean sir, but--" Brandon was cut short at the sound of the carriage approaching the gates, Pritchards’ loud cussing could be heard a mile way.
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"Sons o' bitches is what they are, kid! Wakin' up half the damned hills with their screechin'! Tell me they ain't gonna be doin' this all through the night.  I can't stick another greenscum cryin' me awake all night boy!" Pritchards grimaced, his scarred face was still a dark shade of red.

"Well, Walsh says we have new protocol, open up the carriage and get the males inside first."  Brandon signaled the men nearby to open the doors.

The large bulky doors swung open as what seemed like gallons of water and worse poured from the mobile prison. The guards reeled back, laughing in disgust.  "They're damned sick!" "Animals they are!"  "Can't hold it in scum?!" the men taunted and spat on the males who were coming out of the carriage.

Chains linked the males together, around their hands, necks and feet.  They moved slowly up the path, enduring the taunts in a foreign tongue.  An old Orc seemed to try and grasp a females hand as he was being carried away, he spoke hushed and hoarse. "Kil'nath rhuk m--" A thick crack erupted as Pritchards unleashed the whip on the old Orcs back, it howled in pain and fell to its knees, the female trying to grasp her mate.  "No! Back in there you bitch!" Pritchards pushed the female's head back into the cart with force. The old Orc arose and looked upon Pritchards with his red eyes, the Orc didn't make a sound, just a long cold stare into the eyes of the human.

"Off! Hyeah!" The horses pulled the chains of the males and proceeded to herd them into the large iron gates.  One by one they marched slowly, their heads hunched and feet dragging against the dirt.  Many still wore the garments of their people, leather garbs and metal armor.  The warrior race known as the Orcs were now nothing more than cattle.

When the males were a safe distance away the armed men approached the carriage now filled with only females and young.  Young Mr. Rice approached behind the guards and looked over their shoulders, seeming to count what he was looking at. "Okay we have, six of them this time-- take them now."

The females looked confused to one another, the young still huddled in behind their mothers.  The men then approached the Orcs holding newborns and quick snatched the ones within reach,  piercing shrieks and yelps exploded from the carriage.

The males still in chains looked back to the humans holding their young, the newborns wailing and the females being struck down for resisting the humans.  They struggled against their chains briefly before they turned their backs on the scene.  The old Orc still limping from his whipping remained steady, his eyes locking with every human he passed. The large iron gates shut behind them and they were hit with the sight of Orcs in rags, wielding picks and shovels in the lower reaches of the camp. Low grunts among the males began to grow, they were clearly agitated as Walsh approached the bridge, overlooking the new group.
With a grin on his lips and a pipe in his hand, he opened his arms and exclaimed proudly;

"Welcome! To Amberglade you worthless rats!"

[Grogok]

Really nice written i can't wait to hear more of what happens at the camp

[Kozgugore]

Definitely nicely written! I'll certainly keep an eye on this one!

[Gnash]

I like this story a lot so far. You've certainly got a way of portraying the atmosphere.

[Mazguul]

Beautifully written! I'm looking forward to anything else you write, truly!!! =D

[Sadok]

An enjoyable and very immersive read. The broken spirit of the orcish warriors was portrayed very well.

I can hardly wait for the second installment. Good job!