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Encaitare · 08-24-2005, 11:59 AM

The orcs straggled back into camp, snarling in resentment at their defeat or tending to their wounds, in many cases both. Glûtkask spied Lushurd trudging at the head of the bitter group, holding his right arm. The lieutenant looked up, and seeing Glûtkask, came towards him. He looked as though he was in great pain, but that was not important. They had failed to carry out Sauron's orders; he would be most displeased.

"Report, lieutenant! How many did you lose, and why in the name of Mordor did you retreat?"

"More than half," Lushurd replied wearily. "We would've crushed them if the Dwarves hadn't snuck out from behind. We were, we were felling 'em like trees..."

"And you could not stand and fight?"

Lushurd fixed on him a narrow-eyed frown. "That sounds like Elvish talk to me. What did you want us to do, fight to the last man? When it's our skins on the line out there, I'd rather live to fight another day, thank you." He turned to leave, but Glûtkask lay a heavy hand on his shoulder and wheeled him about. "What?"

"I'm not yet finished with you," the captain said through bared teeth. "What's the state of the survivors?"

"Some have minor wounds, and some got banged up pretty bad." Lushurd glanced down at his arm, which he was still clutching with the other. "And some got lucky and aren't hurt at all... though I'm inclined to think they're just yellow-bellied and decided to stay out of the fray," he said slyly.

Glûtkask did not miss the implication; his voice became lower and harsher. "Let's see that wound of yours, then, shall we?" He tore Lushurd's grasp from the injured arm; the orc howled in pain. This attracted the attention of the soldiers, who looked on with interest. This was good -- sometimes a good example was just what they needed. The wound was deep; a sword had slashed nearly to the bone. Black blood had been clotting around it but was flowing freely once again now that the stop was removed.

"Coward, am I?" Glûtkask hissed at the seething lieutenant. "And you think you're going to fight another day? With your sword-arm nearly hacked right off?" Lushurd's hand went back to covering the gash.

"Yes, Boldog, I--"

The all-too-familiar sound of steel punching through armor and burying itself in flesh cut short his words. Lushurd crumpled to the ground, Glûtkask's axe protruding from his torso.

"Wounded like that is as good as dead," Glûtkask informed Lushurd as he drew his last breath.

He placed a booted foot on the deceased's chest and pulled the axe free. "Kharn!" The now sole lieutenant came forward. "Lushurd has died from the wounds he so... nobly sustained. We'll be setting off tomorrow a bit before noon. The sun'll be high, but it'll make the cold more bearable." He glanced disdainfully at the corpse at his feet, knowing that the orcs would soon fall upon it like scavengers. "Get this bit of carrion out of here."

08-24-2005, 11:59 AM	#94
Encaitare Bittersweet Symphony Join Date: Jul 2004 Location: On the jolly starship Enterprise Posts: 1,814	The orcs straggled back into camp, snarling in resentment at their defeat or tending to their wounds, in many cases both. Glûtkask spied Lushurd trudging at the head of the bitter group, holding his right arm. The lieutenant looked up, and seeing Glûtkask, came towards him. He looked as though he was in great pain, but that was not important. They had failed to carry out Sauron's orders; he would be most displeased. "Report, lieutenant! How many did you lose, and why in the name of Mordor did you retreat?" "More than half," Lushurd replied wearily. "We would've crushed them if the Dwarves hadn't snuck out from behind. We were, we were felling 'em like trees..." "And you could not stand and fight?" Lushurd fixed on him a narrow-eyed frown. "That sounds like Elvish talk to me. What did you want us to do, fight to the last man? When it's our skins on the line out there, I'd rather live to fight another day, thank you." He turned to leave, but Glûtkask lay a heavy hand on his shoulder and wheeled him about. "What?" "I'm not yet finished with you," the captain said through bared teeth. "What's the state of the survivors?" "Some have minor wounds, and some got banged up pretty bad." Lushurd glanced down at his arm, which he was still clutching with the other. "And some got lucky and aren't hurt at all... though I'm inclined to think they're just yellow-bellied and decided to stay out of the fray," he said slyly. Glûtkask did not miss the implication; his voice became lower and harsher. "Let's see that wound of yours, then, shall we?" He tore Lushurd's grasp from the injured arm; the orc howled in pain. This attracted the attention of the soldiers, who looked on with interest. This was good -- sometimes a good example was just what they needed. The wound was deep; a sword had slashed nearly to the bone. Black blood had been clotting around it but was flowing freely once again now that the stop was removed. "Coward, am I?" Glûtkask hissed at the seething lieutenant. "And you think you're going to fight another day? With your sword-arm nearly hacked right off?" Lushurd's hand went back to covering the gash. "Yes, Boldog, I--" The all-too-familiar sound of steel punching through armor and burying itself in flesh cut short his words. Lushurd crumpled to the ground, Glûtkask's axe protruding from his torso. "Wounded like that is as good as dead," Glûtkask informed Lushurd as he drew his last breath. He placed a booted foot on the deceased's chest and pulled the axe free. "Kharn!" The now sole lieutenant came forward. "Lushurd has died from the wounds he so... nobly sustained. We'll be setting off tomorrow a bit before noon. The sun'll be high, but it'll make the cold more bearable." He glanced disdainfully at the corpse at his feet, knowing that the orcs would soon fall upon it like scavengers. "Get this bit of carrion out of here." Last edited by Encaitare; 08-25-2005 at 02:29 PM.