"The Rolling Hills" by Joshua Doten Davids

     A pervasive hot air hangs think in the in the entrance to the multitude of cave entrances. Thick turning black smoke leaks from the small openings staining the air all about the small clearing before them with the stench of burned flesh and dirty bodies. Dark and roughly clad forms bustle about before the clearing the glint of steel shimmers from the hands of many, their clothing can only be described as crude and mismatched. A single form sits against the thick trunk of an ancient tree, at his side rests a massive but worn sword rust streaking it once mirror finish to a dirty brown. His dark brown eyes watch the going on of the orc tribe far below him from his perch on the top of a hill not too far from where the tribe lairs at. On his shoulder is perched a large raven who sits as still as the figure does watching the preparations for the oncoming battle. Only a sigh escapes the large figure’s lips revealing a set of small tusks, much smaller then any other orc.

     From one of the larger caves steps a figure larger them most of the others holding a grand sword that reflects the light of the glaring noon day sun with each twist of the wrist.  He stands straight as he watches the preparations also with a demanding eye wanting this raid to be perfect and he will have nothing less then that. The king of the Blood Feather tribe raises the sword up pointing at two others that seems to be resting against a boulder barking an order in their guttural language snapping his tusks angry as he finishes the berating. They quickly go back to gathering up crude spears and the few serviceable weapons that have been rusting in the caverns all winter and spring, spoils from their last raid into the human lands. The large figure sitting under the tree stands slowly with only a protesting squawk from the raven on his shoulder, the bird always hates going down to the warrens the stench almost more then it can bear.

     The half orc lifts the massive sword in the air with ease, towering over seven feet tall he has not one ounce of fat on his form, mostly for the fact for most of the winter and spring the tribe has been on the verge of starvation and the fact he is constantly fighting among his tribe, nothing more then a half breed to the rest. He takes his time walking down the lush green hills that surround the tribe, a little amazed that this place has not been decimated as well by the orc’s, ripping all the trees from the roots. Then again they do need some concealment so supposed heroes don’t come and wipe them all out. Rotting meat hits his nose and knows he is close to the refuse pits where what remains of the carcasses of the kills is dumped as well as used for a privy. The earth all around lays bare of vegetation and trees rise into the air, their leaves spotted with yellow and brown and falling with each breeze to the ground as disease and insects claim them. He lets out another sigh as his raven friend flaps nervously as they near the pit, almost having become part of it if not for the orc it rides with saving her from being roasted.

     He steps into the clearing looking all about shaking his head as he watches the orcs prepare for the coming march and raid in the new human settlements, knowing full well that most will die in the coming battle. Not for the first time he wonders what the point of all of these battles are, nothing but death and destruction. He starts making his way towards the chief of the tribe and decides better of it not wanting to bother him at the moment, nor deal with his words. Instead he makes his ways towards the dirty caves, stooping down to enter the one that leads to his, room if it can be called that. He passes much smaller orcs that glare at him in revulsion for what he represents, many more turn around and head back the way they came looking for a way around the towering brute. He quickly enters his small hovel barely able to fit in the entrance let alone the cramped quarters.

      He lifts the raven from his shoulder setting it down on a crude stand that he made from a few branches put together quickly. Tossing his sword uncaringly to the wall, nicking both the blade and stone he plops down on his crude straw mattress knowing the lone stool in the room will not support his massive weight, it has failed to do that since he was ten. He eyes his sparse belongings and knows his chief will want him along on the raid, if not nothing else to be cannon fodder. He reaches down and picks up a small pack from near his bed, he absently wonders if he is the only one in this tribe that bothers to prepare for the actually trip and battle other then gathering weapons and driving up their blood lust. He snatches what few belongings he will need and shoves them roughly into the pack sliding it over his larger shoulders, the strap barely fitting on them. He then pats his shoulder calling the raven to it wondering how much more time before the ritual dance starts wanting to be back at his oak by then.

      Standing up from the bed having to bend his shoulder so he doesn’t smack his head into the low hanging roof he walks over to his sword and wonders if he should even bother bringing it with him for what he plans to do won’t involve that. He resigns himself to pick up the cold metal blade and take it with him making his way down through the long corridor blinking as the thick smoke within the warrens stings his eyes. Reaching the entrance he squints his eyes and steps into the light blinking a few times to settle the spots invading his vision. The raven on his shoulder flaps its wings a few times and he reaches a surprisingly gentle hand to scratch it atop its head to settle the nervous bird before he starts to make his way towards the path he entered the camp from. Hefting the sword atop his shoulder the flat of the blade resting there in comfort he doesn’t bother to pay attention to the others or the preparations, his mind settled on his plan.

      Suddenly a hand roughly grabs the massive half orc’s shoulder and spins him about two angry red eyes stare back at him. Standing before him is a scarred but much shorter orc, his tusk yelled with rot. The half orc just looks down at the beast and shrugs his shoulder sending his raven into flight as well as shoving the hand away from him with casual ease. He just stares down at the other monster with calm and cold eyes wondering what he wants now. The other just faces him down not saying a word though occasionally he glances towards the preparations. “ What is it Broz?”

     The orc grunts as its name is used and looks back at the much larger and younger orc, one of two brothers that seem to always harass the half orc. He flashes the other being what can only be said as a grin of contempt for the half breed. He snorts in distaste as he is forced to use the half orc’s name. “ Why you no join fire dance Brock?”

      Brock resists the urge to roll his eyes up not wanting to have to explain his reason why he doesn’t want to join the celebration to this little orc. Instead he jabs a thumb towards his chest mocking the orc before him. “ This Brock go to tree and sleep pig face.” He then motions towards one of the many trees in the distance turning about to start to walk towards it ignoring the anger growing on the orc’s face at the slight insult from the half breed.

     “ One tusk gets it soon.” The orc known as Broz states to the half orcs back then he to turns away from the spot making his way towards where the massive bon fire will be held this night to prepare all of the troops for the oncoming invasion of the low lands for food and fun.

     The midnight form of his great raven flies down to the shoulder of Brock settling down on the thick cloth enjoying the familiarity of the vantage point. This time the half orc avoids the refuse pit making his way around several other hills keeping to the shadows cast by them, surprisingly his large form seems to blend into them appearing much smaller then he truly is. Finally reaching the great tree he normally rests under he sets his battered sword down on the ground none too gently and pats his raven towards a low laying branch in order to take his pack off of his shoulders. He tosses the many patched pack to the ground, wondering if he will be able to buy a new one soon enough, or if his plan will succeed or not. As he slides down the bark, smoothed over the years from constant use he reaches a broad and hairy hand into the pack fishing out a small pad of crude paper, a thin charcoal stick and some type of small harness it seems.

     He begins to write on the paper some small notations then starts to fold it up sliding it away in the small little caring case that seems to be made specifically for this task. He calls down the raven patting his knee for the bird to come to rest there, eyeing it with a half smile and quickly and with surprising dexterity attaches the letter to the raven for a friend not too far away. He slides the charcoal stick away into the pack and whispers into the ear of the raven, just in case any are near to hear him and pats it on the back once sending it into flight. He watches the raven disappear into the quickly descending night then turns his eyes onto the budding massive fire in the distance and ring of figures all about it moving to the beat of drums and crude flutes, the sound grating on his ears. He wonders how even the thickest skull of his tribe can stand that racket. He sets his sword across his lap and waits there watching the goings on and tries to put the screams of the few sacrifices they have managed to gather out of his mind knowing soon he will be out of this small nightmare.

      The night quickly falls bathing the clearing the orc’s celebrate in before a grand battle in dancing shadows and flickers of orange light. The darkened figure of the half orc watches it all waiting for his raven to get back keeping his great sword across his lap, long ago he learned not to be caught out here without a weapon at the ready. His kin are all too ready to slice his throat open or put a spear through his heart just for what he is. A speck of darkness flies towards him landing lightly on the knee offered to it, the raven shaking it body after the long flight settling into a comfortable position as well as to settle any disturbed feathers. It caws once at the half orc and waits for the harness to be removed from its back. Brock gladly does so undoing the small buckles and slides off the miniature pack pulling out a crumpled up piece of paper. He examines the writing and can’t help but grin crumpling up the piece of paper tossing it away into the night knowing all too well few will be able to read that message if they were to find it anyways.

      He settles back against the tree again petting the raven along its back for a job well done and slowly he settles the beast down onto his shoulder quickly closing his eyes knowing the raven will watch the night for him, what little remains of it. Though he has nothing to fear from the rest of the clan of orcs for all of them are clustered about on the ground drunk from the ale they consumed during their nightly festivals. The night falls away quickly giving way to a graying dawn the stars slowly fading behind the rising sun. Even before the last of the rays and the first of the drunk orcs rise from the ground the half orc is gone from his spot below the great tree standing in the clearing his large sword held easily in his hand at his side. The chieftain seems a bit surprised that the half orc seems ready for the battle, even though he is a bit displeased by the sight of the raven clutching onto the large man’s shoulders. Soon a long winding column of orcs ready for battle move out from the clearing clutching crude and misused weapons, most badly need repairing.

     During the first nights camp the half orc stays away from the crowd once again keeping his back to a tree for the night, paranoid that some might try and make good on the numerous promises of death thrown his way, so too does the raven. By the dusk of the next day the column is on its way again the bloodlust surging through the veins of all but one orc that is. It is on this day that he walks away from the main column of orcs using the excuse he is scouting for any humans that might be near for fresh victims to sacrifice that night before the coming attack on a small village. He yet doesn’t know how true his words are. Shortly after he makes his way into the woods he hears guttural laughter masked by the thick foliage followed by screams of terror one of the voices deeper then the other. He slows his stride and keeps his sword held steady at his side as he peaks his head through the brush spying a scene that turns his stomach.

    Two orcs harass what seems to be a pair of humans, brother and sister by the looks of them. The brother is already bloodied in several areas the two much larger orcs seem to be having fun toying with that one. The other woman clutches onto her torn clothing, so the boy has courage in him. He has not too much time to waste as one of the orcs turns in his direction as he hears the big man come through the brush breaking small sapling under his stride. He grins seeing who it is and motions towards the two humans. “ Come have fun..we all have fun soon.”  The orc that talked to him, Brosh the brother of Broz stabs out with his dirty spear impaling the youth through the shoulder laughing as the kid screams out in pain.

     Broz turns to see who it is and lets out a curse but then a grin splits his lips as he knows now is his chance to kill the mutt and blame it on the lowly humans. He goes to take a step forwards towards the half orc, but that is as far as he gets the anger steadily rising in Brock at the scene before him and already on the attack. He brings the massive sword down, using the flat of the blade to knock the orc senseless and throwing him to the ground from the force of the thick steel blade. Brosh looks at the half orc in surprise, shocked at what just happened to his brother and even more shocked as the great blade cleaves cleanly through the haft of the spear separating the weapon from the user. He has just enough time to look dumbly at the shattered haft and blink before a large hand grabs the beast’s throat easily lifting the heavy orc from the ground. Brock glares at him squarely in the eyes, the full blooded orc’s feet hanging clear off the ground then he is thrown right at the trunk of a tree. The impact makes the great tree shudder and causes the orc’s helmet fold in on itself as his head is crushed. The body falls to the ground limply, the half orc not even bothering to watch its descent.

      He turns his eyes towards the other orc his eyes still filled with rage as he watches the human boy fall towards the ground out of the corner of his eyes. He lets out a single snort taking but a few steps to the other orc just as it starts to shake its head to clear the spots in its vision and the confusion running rampant through its mind. He has little time to see his death descend on him, the massive rusted steel blade cleaving through his gut easily, ripping the intestines free then with a deft turn of his wrist he sends the blade up at an angle slicing cleanly through the disemboweled orc. Before the halves have time to separate he brings the sword down once again onto the beast’s head but this time the edge leads splitting the orc in two once again. The look of surprise covers both sides of its face as the pieces fall to the ground.

     The large half orc kneels down next to the youth as his sister stands there terrified at what this new foe might do to them, her brother already fallen and possibly dead. She has not the courage to look down and see if he still breathes as her mind freezes up, darkness descending on her consciousness though her eyes stay fixed forwards just staring into the woods. Looking up at the young girl and seeing the distant look in her eyes Brock knows already that she will not be of any help with her brother. Knowing time is against him he rips the spear from the young man’s shoulder with nothing more then a whimper from the youth tossing the deadly tool aside. He places a remarkably gentle hand against the wound as blood pours from it profusely, trying to still the bleeding. He succeeds in his efforts but barely having to use shreds of the boy’s shirt as stuffing as well as pieces of it for bandages. Brock shakes his head sadly noting the ashy pallor to the youth’s skin from all of the blood and the stress of what he just been through. He will need a healer soon to survive.

      As the boy starts to stabilize and the blood flows less and less the half orc looks to the girl and reaches up a great hand shaking her shoulder roughly to break her from the trance she is in. It takes him a few tries before she finally snaps out of it and looks down to see what she thinks is a huge beast kneeling over her brother about to kill him. She lets out a loud shriek that causes his raven to fly off into the night and make the half orc grind his teeth at the pain stabbing through his ears. He quickly slaps a hand over the girl’s mouth to quiet her, but that only makes matters worse as she starts to thrash about in his grasp. She manages to land a few elbows and punches on his head, though that does little to make his hand move away. He nearly snaps her neck by accident as she kicks the tip of his nose causing pain to sear through his body, his eyes watering from the blow. In a calm compassionate voice he addresses her. “ Please girl be still before you bring more of them here, I am trying to help your brother.”

     It takes several more tries before she actually calms down enough but she shoots insults and curses his way before she realizes that he was talking to her in her own language. “ You can speak?”

      Keeping true to his form he frowns a bit revealing his tusks to her. “ No I am some stupid swine that can’t speak a word and not form any thoughts. Of course I can speak and write as well. Look people the amazing writing and talking pig man.”

      She can’t help but chuckle nervously at his words, calming even more till she sees her bother lying on the ground soaked in his own blood. She finally sees through a clear mind the carnage all about her before looking back to the one who seems to have helped them. He smiles a little bit as he lifts the young man up trying to ease her concerns and easily drapes him over a shoulder, to him the boy weighs no more then his sword. He also picks up the sword and motions for the girl to follow him just as screams start to break out along the road he was traveling on with his clan. He looks towards the noises as does the girl who instinctively clutches onto one of his legs in fright nearly tripping him right then and there, but he manages to keep his footing. Overhead his great raven flies a tight circle about the small group then comes to land on a small stone wall watching the trio for a moment before it looks towards rising plumes of smoke that curl into the air.

      The half orc looks at the rising clouds his eyes growing cold at the slaughter that must be happening at this very moment. Brock turns to look at the girl asking her many questions, before he is finally satisfied he asks her how far away she lives. The little girl points towards a small cottage not too far away and he nods his head for her to fetch someone for the boy. Protesting a few times, still not trusting the one who might have saved them but in the end the sight of her brother laying on the ground is enough to make her run for the cottage. Brock calls his raven to his shoulder as he looks once more towards the rising plumes of smoke then watches as someone in a thick blue dress comes running from the house followed by the small girl. He takes that as his cue to disappear fading off into the woods wondering where to go now that the slaughter is well under the way. He can’t help but smile grimly knowing that he likely just wiped out most of his clan, they will be struggling for many years yet and will be no threat for anyone during raiding season. First he will make his way to the spot where his friend said he would leave no clothing and supplies for his warning as well as the chieftain’s sword, then where in the realms he doesn’t know.