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Squib Ep.15 - The Shanking

ButonflyOct 29, 2018, 12:19:01 PM

(Start at the beginning here)

“If anyone of you live you sshould bow low to the earth and thank whatever heathen gods you dare worship.”

Herule looked down upon the clump of huddled faces who looked back in puzzlement. They didn't understand him any more than he did them but that hadn’t stopped him before. It wasn't like it mattered as they were all waiting for the same signal, and all any of them needed to know was to stick to the plan hatched by the adventurers come for their rescue. It was as good a shot as any, of which there had been none. But even with the best laid plans, Herule knew to expect the worst.

The Lizardman was just happy to be free of his bindings. If anything would have caused him failure it would be the restriction of movement. However the adventurers had seen to that, providing both tools and expertise to free him before this specific task. Since arriving at the orc camp he had not been so grateful as he had for that gift, and despite his presumptions he found himself with a reason to trust the strange cast of adventuring characters. Of course he didn't particularly like them- but then he also didn't have to. Gizelle seemed confident enough in who they were and what they’d come to do, and for his part that had been enough for Herule.

Some of the human captives huddled by Herule’s leg started bantering among themselves- a strained, uneasy exchange that threatened to grow in tone and volume. Nerves, Herule realised. The kind a Lizardling might display when playing too close to a camps boundary, or smelling the scent of some dangerous creature come sneaking near in the dead of night. It made Herule unhappy given these were fully grown humans- adults by all appearance, who couldn't afford the luxury of unwarranted sounds that could lead to a very real demise. He frowned, issuing an aggressive hiss that interrupted the exchange and put an end to it sharply.

Herule turned his attention back into the night, peering over the boulder into the surrounding camp to watch for orc-movement, and make sure nobody had heard. All looked clear in the foreseeable distance.

“I will gut you myself, humans- if I have to.” Herule muttered, painfully aware his serpentine sounds were falling on deaf ears. What he would give to exchange this worthless group of slaves for a group of fighting Lizardmen Warriors. What he would give indeed.

“Not all of us, I hope.” Gizelle’s voice came as she stepped awkwardly through the crouching group and came to rest with one small hand placed gently on Herule’s back.

He exchanged with her a glance but paid her comment little mind- self assured that his comment needed no justification. He knew it was true and assumed Gizelle would have to agree with him.

“Are the others ready?” Herule asked, keeping his senses keen for any movements in the night.

“Everybody’s waiting for the signal.” Gizelle clambered up the boulder to see the surroundings for herself, and Herule hoisted her from under the leg to remove the effort. Quietly he preferred she didn't get involved, least she make some noise scraping on the rock. But a softness he’d developed for the human woman had him decide to help instead. The lesser of two evils.

“It is taking to long. It is only a matter of time before an orc comes to check.”

Gizelle gave Herule a pat on the arm and he gently set her down. She turned to her fellow humans and began speaking hushed words to them. Even without understanding the tongue, Herule could tell she was working her linguistic magic, offering reassurances, and ensuring everyone remained focused on their task. Fear oozed from their pores and permeated the air. It was a wonder how the orcs had not sensed it and come running like chickens at feeding time. Clearly their senses were not so sharp as the Lizard-kind’ was.

The sound of a distant horn carried over the night air. There was a brief pause as all ears turned to listen. It came again, low and long, a garish brutal tone denoting the orcish call for war. The camp came alive with the barks of orc lieutenants. Whatever night time activities that had been keeping the greenskins occupied quickly divulged into a cacophonous call to arms.

Herule watched as the greenskins mobilized, and motioned with his hand for the dozen or so slaves behind him to get ready to move.

“Follow my lead, we’ll fall in behind their exit.” Herule said back to Gizelle before slowly creeping up and over his boulder. He stepped out ahead of the group, keeping his eyes on the distant firelight that marked the outer ring of orc dwellings. Most of the orcs were moving away but it wasn't long before one turned inward and began making his way down the quarry carrying a torch.

Herule continued forward, staying low with his eyes trained on the adversary. It wouldn't do to have him come upon the escape, at least not while they were still in the heart of the camp. The big Lizardman became little more than a gnat as he moved on all fours, darting into position behind rocks that kept him from view. The orc would hear him moving about soon enough which was why Herule settled somewhere ahead of his path to lay in wait.

The orc trudged forward, unaware of the danger, until Herule popped up beside him with his massive arms and jaw wrought, ready for murder. He captured the orcs neck and wrist each in one hand, and clamped his powerful toothy jaw down around his markedly smaller head. Every ounce of pressure the Lizardman could muster was suddenly applied, crushing both skull and throat so that little more than a gurgled wheeze escaped the orcs lips. Life drained from the greenskin. Under Herule’s weight the orc buckled, coming to lay lifeless on the gravel.

Herule left him there, continuing on with nothing but the orcs crude weapon and the taste of iron in his mouth- poor tokens with which to remember him by. Finding the ring of firelight, the Lizardman scanned the area for threats of alarm but found little in the way of orc-presence. “Perfect,” Herule thought. “Soon Herule will be back with his brothers and sisters, and these Orcs will get what they deserve.”

Gizelle and the other humans caught up and together the group made their way through the camp.

The orcs had three main exits, and expertly the adventurers had devised a plan to use that to their advantage. With the call to arms, the greater portion of the orc body had exited through one gate, while Herule and the rest of the slaves would exit through another. Given enough time they could disappear into the rocky crags of the mountainous terrain, meet up with the Adventurers-Come-Rescue, and be lead back to the sanctity of the Silkwood swamp before the Orcs could catch them up. The only thing that stood in their way was the guard posted keeping watch over their determined exit.

Herule and three of the most able bodied men crept into spying distance of the wooden palisade. Either side of the gate were two tall towers constructed from lumber and accessible only by ladders. Scaling the height required either a tremendous amount of strength converted into speed, or an equal measure of stealth so as to not be noticed before the worst could happen.

In total, Herule counted three orcs manning the towers. Two positioned at either end with a third walking a narrow boardwalk above the gate in between. All were uncharacteristically alert, which Herule thought understandable given the recent alarm.

The Lizardman looked to his fellows with disdain. They appeared less warriors and more animated depictions of skin and bones. Just looking at them Herule had his doubts, but with nothing better to work with he wasn't about to complain.

As he looked, the three seemed to be concocting a plan of their own, the words of which he could not understand. After a moment the eldest of the three began pointing and motioning to Herule, suggesting what they planned to do.

Herule wasn't sure he understood but a sentiment of comradery overcame him all the same. “May you die sswiftly, and your bones be put to more use than the ssum total of your pathetic lives.” He said with an ingratiating nod. They offered vacant stares, then smiles and nods before all four turned and jumped into action.

Herule dashed for the nearest ladder while two of the men went for the far. The eldest of the three scurried toward the gate, everyone keeping low and quiet as could be. Herule watched in puzzlement, trying to divine the purpose of their movements and how best to act amidst them. All became clear as the elder man reached the gates and broke into a labored run to get free of the camp.

The orcs barked as they noticed, pointing to alert each other and raise their bows. Seeing the distraction, Herule and the others took to the ladders and began making a hasty ascent. The orcs began firing arrows and throwing javelins into the night, sending missile after missile hailing dangerously close to the stumbling man. One caught him in the thigh and he went down crying in pain.

The orcs laughed and barked across to one another but the mirth died quickly as Herule reached the tower. He met the distracted orc before him with the full force of his body, shoving the orc forward and sending him toppling over the palisade to fall upon a tangle of sharpened spikes. He wasted no time in watching the descent, instead drawing one of the javelins stored in a nearby barrel and turning it toward his next foe.

Bewildered though he was the orc instinctively drew his horn to his lips but Herule’s arm had already sent the javelin hurtling. It caught the orcs hand and horn both, sending metal, shaft, and bone pulverising through the orcs face to his sudden grizzly demise. Herule watched as his lifeless body collapsed and fell away, revealing the struggle with the two men and the remaining orc on the distant tower.

One man had the orc around the throat, choking the life out of him with a grapple from behind, while the other was locked in the orcs grip at his front. The orc, losing but not yet done, drew a knife and began shanking his victim in the belly. Life and strength began to drain from all three until finally both man and orc slunk to a bloody, gurgling mess on the tower floor.

Satisfied Herule turned back toward the darkness of the camp. It was over. The gate was won. He raised his arm into the air and began motioning for the others to come running.