Saturday, 5 December 2015

They came from the shadows....

The dark column marched steadily, quietly, through the shadows, or did the shadows swarm forth to meet them? Slipping into the city unnoticed hadn't been anticipated as being easy, but Sarlea's suggestion that the mercenaries used her arrival to mask their movements was a stroke of genius. All heads were fixed on the pomp and splendour of her entourage which made slipping by unnoticed a mere walk in the park.

As the mercenaries moved deeper into the deserted areas of the city, the Chieftain, a haunting, pale and gaunt figure, taunted by who knows what, gave hushed orders to his men to fan out as the column neared the area garrisoned by the Orcs.

His men moved stealthily securing junctions and strategic points covered by others with bows, javelins and crossbows - the weapons of silent killers. In the centre of the stealth-like mass, a cowled almost imperceptible figure, bristled with dark energy. Although the haunting pale Chieftain gave the commands, it was clear that this shadowy Warlock was the one really in command and all movement by the shadowy column was clearly about his protection.

Why they were here and what they were after, remained as mysterious as their orders....

AMBUSH! by Mad Lemmey,13259.0.html

The dark cloaked figure stepped out of the mist, finger tips crackling, as flame after flame leapt from his hand in the retreating remnants of the Orc supply party sending screams of agony up ino the morning mist. Although the Dark Elves had failed to annihilate the party, many were left dead and dying, and more importantly the Orc scum would go hungry tonight.

An Assassin bowed low before the Warlock, his poisened blades still dripping foul Orc blood onto the hissing, shrivelling grass at his feet. The Warlock nodded almost impercetibly recognising the assassins skill in saving him when surrounded by the rogue band of Orcs. The Warlock looked on as the killer limped off to find a healer to treat his multitude of festering wounds. The assassin knew all too well that his wounds, ripped asunder by slavering wolf riders, could all too easily turn septic leading to a slow and torturous death. In time he would heal, the wolves would not.

Slowly the Dark Elf warband returned, many carrying the severed heads of Orcs as grizzly trophies. Archers and Crossbowmen set about the task of retrieving precious bolts and arrowheads from Orc dead. No evidence must remain of their incursion. Their task complete, the Warband slinked back into the shadows clearing their tracks as they left to ensure their path could not be followed.

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