Walked away from worse

[Therak]

((Right, 3 hours on a train, and got snoozy as soon as I tried to read. So up came the latop, and another story!))

The sun had just begun to set when Therak found the camp, hidden in the vegetation around the Northern part of the river. He'd been out most of the day, starting from where he'd found the lone straggler, moving in ever widening circles. Until he found what he was looking for.
"One... two... " Therak mentally counted them off, eight in the camp, preparing for dinner. One more as a sentry, standing lazily against a tree, paying more attention to his boots then the surroundings. Nine against one, he'd had worse odds and walked away. Or well, limped at least.
Therak worked in complete silence, carefully crawling into the underbush, hidden from sight and with his eyes on the sentry. From his pack, a clay jug filled with some of the Whisky Grogona had given him, good stuff. But she'd forgive him for his use of it. He wouldn't tell her in any case. A strip of cloth was tied around the neck of the jug, waiting to be doused and shoved down the neck of the jug.

Striak sat around the campfire with the others, waiting for the gruel he had learned to call food to thicken. He looked over in the direktion Hark was standing sentry, or well, was supposed to anyway. He wasn't there. "Probably off to take a leak..." He thought, confident in that Hark wouldn't fall asleep. Last time it had happened, he'd lost two fingers as punishment, squeeled like a pig he had. And bled like one aswell.
They had been in the camp for almost a week, Vortas had been off to scout out the camp of the vile orcs since then. He was supposed to be back sometime during the night, with information on just how to best strike at the beasts.
His train of thought was broken as his companions burst out in laughter, he'd missed the joke, but that didn't stop him from joining in, after all. Laughter is best shared with friends. And there were no truer friends then fellow brothers and sisters of the Twilight Hammer.
Striak was still laughing when he saw  small flame appear out in the undergrowth, and as time had slowed, he saw the flame soar through the air, and slam down on the side of Harolds head, enveloping it in a flaming inferno. Flames splattering all over Trind.
Activitiy erupted across the camp, Harold just toppled over without a sound, but Trind was shrieking, stumbling around, spreading a sickly smell of cooked flesh. The laughter had died out, and everyone was scrambling for their weapons. Side by side with Farom he ran towards the spears lying nearby. Farom fell short, feathered shaft sticking out of his back.
A loud roar, and the first orc came running at them. Nith cut down by a nasty looking dagger, much more the size of a short sword then anything. Surik had gotten his sword halfway out of his sheath by the time the orc reached him, slicing through his neck, a fountain of blood, black in the darkness erupting, spluttering a few times before he toppled over.
Finally Striak had his spear, clammy hands gripping it. Turning towards the orc, the other three cultists had gotten their weapons aswell. All of them on one side of the fire, the orc on the other, he realized it could hardly be called an orc assault. Just that one orc had taken down five of his brothers within a few moment.
The camp had turned silent, except for the low whimpering of Harold, still twitching at the corner of the camp, fire finally burnt out. They all stood, as if frozen. THe grinning orc on one side, half crouched, dark tatoos snaking their way along his arms, over his torso and all the way up to his face, stopping at his eyes. "Stupid savages" he though. The orc wasn't even big, but there was something frightening about him, blood splattered across his chest and face, the blades of his daggers gleaming red in the firelight.
None of the four cultists wanted to be the first to attack, so Therak took the initiative, kicking into the fire, sparks flying towards the cultists, two of them flinching. He charged one, dagger thudding into his side, smashing the pommel of the other one into another cultists face. Twisting as he passed them, turning a solid swing into nothing but a grazing hit, blood welling up across his shoulderblades.
Fierce pain erupted in Striaks face, stars danced in front of his eyes, and he stumbled back, landing hard on his arse, spear clattering useless from his hand. The orc turned to the side, parrying two quick blows from Vort, before slicing seemingly in front of him, but Vort stumbled back, hands reaching to stop his innards from falling out. He stepped over Vort, while Crim raised his large sword, chopping down at the savage, one dagger spinning from his hand, landing point first in the soil. Another cut, and the orc roared, bleeding from his left arm. But his right hand, was pushed against Crims stomach, black point sticking out of his back.
The orc knelt down, picked his other dagger up, pulling the first one from Crim, and walked over towards Striak, speaking in common. "I have some questions, and you're going to answer them..." His blades catching the light of the fire. Red blades, bloody blades.

Therak walked out of the camp, when the frightened human had passed out, he had cut his throat in a single movement. He hadn't even had to cause any pain, the coward had spilled everything he knew, it wasn't much. But it could be useful. The search of the camp had only provided two more amulets like the first, and a letter, similar to the first he had found.
Nine against one, bloody hell. What had he been thinking? If half of them hadn't been green recruits, he'd be the one on the ground now. He reached his pack, and pulled out bandages, needle and thread, setting about stitching up his left bicep. The cut across his shoulderblades wasn't deep, it'd heal on his own. But he would be better off keeping his new armor on for a few days, certain other orcs got so damn worried when he had new cuts, deep or not. And there'd be no need to tell the others how close it had been.
Therak smiled, it had worked though. Strike hard, fast and keep them off balance. Not the most elaborate plan, but sometimes elaborate plans would only be screwed up by everyone else, especially the enemy. They had a knack for not doing what they were supposed to.
Nine against one... Gods he could have used some of that whisky about now...

[Thrash'Nak]

Oi thats my whisky.. :<! Nice read.

[Vilirok]

Actually, it's the whiskey I gave to you on Kai'kor! And, very good piece of writing, keep 'em coming!