[Ransom]

The first arrows skipped off the stone hallways around the Inquisitor, startling but not hurting the group. The crude battle cry of the orcs echoed down the hallway, their actual forms lost in the shadows. Ransom spun, trying to catch sight of the assailants.

A score of heavily armed and armored orcs rounded the corner. The first rank, armed with a short spear, charged forward. The remainder clanged their swords against long iron shield, careful to lag behind the first wave. They had been warned that the group of escapees contained a witch. Ten more short orcs followed them, enthusiastically firing at the former convicts.

Ransom felt a sharp flash of pain as an arrow punched through his armor at the elbow. The spearorcs were soon upon him, prodding his armor as he swung his halberd in a wide arc, struggling to stem the tide. His mind began to work, directing his powerful swings toward the nearest ork. The battle cry of the Inquisition rang down the corridor, fighting against the roar of dark cry. “Perish not the unclean to live!”