Kromwell rode out of the deeply shadowed trees on what passed for a road deep in the ogrish lands of Grunbar. Mountains towered all around. He led the party he was with, naturally, and he lowered the visor of his steel helm, hiding the patchwork of scars on his face when he saw signs of habitation. Raynold rode behind, consciously keeping himself positioned in the center of his protectors.
Kromwell was a startling figure in the deep red plate armor that was shaped to look like a demon carapace. Spikes and horns jutted out dangerously in a universally understood warning. Behind Kromwell rode Raynold in his dark robes with the hood pulled down low, who was surrounded by thirteen of his latest undead creations, knights of Fellton that Raynold had murdered and turned into his eternal protectors. They were free-willed and deadly, Kromwell knew, but they were also magically bound to protect Raynold by the power of his necromancy. In the beginning of their journey, the warhorses they normally rode would not carry them, so Raynold had been forced to kill them and raise them into undeath. There were tiny green flames in the eye sockets of every plate armored one of them, both knight and horse, and any intelligent creature would feel the menace of their being and stay far away. Behind the undead knights came Bermin on a wagon leading all the other guards and laborers who were necessary for this journey.
Kromwell wasn’t surprised to see the ogrish village before him had no sentries. Ogres weren’t worried about being attacked by an invading army because no one was ever foolish enough to attack them. No, the ogres were notorious slavers, and their focus was on keeping their slaves from escaping, not worrying about external threats. Having more potential slaves walk willingly into their village was a good thing for them. This particular village was a very large one, much bigger than the others they had passed through, and it had many buildings made of logs that were deeply shaded. In a way, the village was like a giant turtle because of all the overhanging roofs starting at the largest, most central, buildings. Ogres and goblins hated sunlight.
The village had a palisade wall around most of the perimeter that was designed to keep things in rather than out. On one side of the village there were goblin and human slaves working the fields, crying out from time to time as they were lashed by the ogres watching over them. It was a sound Kromwell was very accustomed to hearing.
The ogres were each around ten to twelve feet tall with sloping brows, thick, black hair, and tusks protruding up from their lower jaws. They wore animal skins and most carried whips and clubs, but the biggest of the ogres all carried axes and mauls of various deadly shapes. The entire place smelled like a dung heap. The ogres all saw the party approaching and scratched their heads, probably wondering why these humans would be so stupid as to approach their village. Raynold held up the golden scrollcase as he had through every village they had passed through, so it was plainly visible to everything inside.
The human party had not yet reached the walls before a large war party of ogres and goblins came out to meet them, drooling with the anticipation of the killing they’d be doing. The “greeters” were the biggest of the lot, and all were armed with whatever weapon suited them best. The goblins swarmed forward, surrounding the humans quickly. Kromwell held up a gauntleted fist and stopped his warhorse, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. The goblins all around made fierce war cries and jabbed and lunged with their weapons in an attempt to intimidate their larger opponents, but the men of Fellton had seen this display many times before and managed to keep their nerve. The living horses were on the edge of panic, as they didn’t know that no ogre or goblin could attack them under the protective enchantment of the scroll.
There was a roar from the center of the village, and the largest mass of ogres parted at the sound. The ogres all gripped their greataxes and mauls tightly, snarling or growling, waiting for the order to attack. Advancing through the war party was an unusually large ogre followed by several shamans. The leader was at least twelve to fourteen feet tall and wore a thick iron cuirass, an iron helm with large horns, and carried a greataxe that was big enough to chop a horse in half. The chieftain looked like he was strong enough to do that on a backswing, too. Familiar with ogrish customs and language, Kromwell waited to be addressed.
“[Who these that come to Grunbar?]” Chieftain Garog demanded loudly.
“[You know who I am,]” Kromwell replied as loudly as he could in ogrish. “[And who I represent.]” Kromwell turned his mount and gestured to the golden scrollcase Raynold held high. “[King Karnas, who is also your king, makes one final command. We come here to bring you this contract that binds you to his service, a gesture of good faith. He wishes you to bring it to him in Fellton so he can release all ogres and goblins from his service forever. King Karnas will even help you subjugate all of Aldon. Everywhere will be Grunbar! But you must bring every single ogre and goblin, even cubs and shrieks, to Fellton to be released of its binding power.]”
“[Heard this before,]” the chieftain said in a growling voice.
“[Has he ever brought you the contract before?]” Kromwell asked loudly.
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The chieftain considered. “[Gimme!]” he shouted.
Raynold, holding the scrollcase, wasn’t feeling foolish enough to give it to him, but that’s what they were here to do. He gave it to his death knight-captain, Kevic, who brought it to Garog. The scrollcase was suddenly engulfed in dark, red, hellish flames, but they did no harm to the chieftain. He flinched the tiniest little bit when the flames appeared, but he didn’t drop the case. Garog knew then that this was the real contract, as did every ogre nearby. They all roared out in triumph. They had been waiting many, many generations for this day.
Since Chieftain Garog wasn’t at war with Fellton, he didn’t have to confront the visitors himself. He surely knew that the visitors brought commands from King Karnas, but ogres didn’t care about things like manners or alliances. They only cared about strength, and they weren’t about to be commanded by something as contemptibly weak as a human. He pointed at a very strong and gruesomely mutilated ogre that had half if his face cleaved in and scarred over and waved him forward. “[Challenger,]” Garog shouted.
This was the part Kromwell was waiting for. It could go very badly very quickly if he was careless. Ogres were so large and strong that they might not even know that they were in a fist fight with a human soldier. Humans could beat on one with all their strength and a fully-grown bull ogre might not even notice. As Kromwell dismounted and took up his black, eight-sided shield, the scarred ogre strode to a point in the road just a little closer than the chieftain stood and limbered up his arms by swinging a massive maul around his head. It was made of a sturdy wooden pole with a tree stump on the end. The blunt side of the stump had a big cap of rusted iron secured with large nails that partially protruded from the other side.
Kromwell had trained hard for this sort of conflict, and he retained plenty of the power granted him by the ancient ones for his latest sacrifices. The power was coiled inside him like a length of spiked chains, waiting to be used. He drew his bastard sword, a heavy, thick-bladed weapon suitable for either one or two-handed use and channeled a small part of his power into the blade. It seemed to smoke in response, with wisps of shadow sliding off the end of the blade. He then used some of his demonic energy to strengthen himself for the fight to come.
By this time a ring had formed around the two combatants that was made of shouting goblins with their ogrish overlords towering above them, all of them bellowing for bloodshed. Kromwell rolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck, and slashed the air twice in quick succession to loosen up his arm. His heartbeat quickened with a surge of adrenaline.
“[Fight!]” Garog shouted.
The scarred bull ogre wasted no time, hefting its maul over its head and charging forward. It aimed a brutal downward blow at Kromwell, who nimbly jumped out of the way. The maul thumped into the hard-packed gravel of the road, spraying gravel in all directions. Kromwell circled, knowing better than to press an attack after the first swing. The ogre yanked its maul up and spun, swinging the maul in a circle at waist height hard enough that the weapon made a whistling sound as it came at Kromwell’s head. He ducked down on one knee and lowered his head, the maul barely missing him. As the ogre’s momentum kept it turning, Kromwell darted in, aiming a slash at the ogre’s knee. The ogre stopped the momentum of the enormous weapon with impressive speed, but its weapon was too far back to deflect a strike. Kromwell’s blade clanged against the ogre’s greave as the ogre raised his shin to defend himself. This one was not completely stupid, it appeared. The ogre quickly set his feet, rolled his shoulders, and brought his maul into an uppercut that was too quick to completely avoid. Kromwell deflected the attack with his shield, but the impact sent him reeling backwards and to the side.
That impact, as slight as it was, hurt Kromwell. His shoulder throbbed from the strain of keeping the blow from being a solid hit. That pain, added to the abuse Kromwell endured as a child and the more recent torture by flaying that he’d barely survived, all combined into a chaotic insanity. Kromwell laughed. He was overcome by a desire to do harm to someone. Anyone. The ogres were confused by this at first and watched intently to see what would happen next.
The scarred ogre gathered itself for another attack, but Kromwell was already moving forward with the superhuman strength granted by his demonic masters. He slashed with his sword and the ogre was barely able to block the blow with the haft of his maul. The ogre was suddenly on the defensive as Kromwell slashed again and again, then finally scored a hit with a strong thrust through the ogre’s thigh. Kromwell yanked the blade out sideways as he ran to the ogre’s right side. The ogre howled in pain as the wound smoked and bubbled, the flesh for an inch in each direction around the wound withering and dying. It struggled to get its footing as blood streamed from the wound. The ogre took a half strength swing at Kromwell as he circled in a clockwise direction, trying to force Kromwell away long enough to make a mighty attack. Kromwell waited a moment. There! As soon as the ogre put weight on its wounded leg, the ogre blinked, and Kromwell darted in and slashed viciously at the ogre’s forearm as it tried to bring its weapon around to block. His sword chopped halfway into the ogre’s forearm, eliciting a howl of agony. The arm withered, and Kromwell knew the fight was all but over. With a series of quick slashes, Kromwell took the ogre apart. The last blow was to its neck as it knelt on the rocky ground. The ogre collapsed, but Kromwell kept hacking at it anyway. The crowd of inhuman onlookers became silent as Kromwell let the insanity within have free reign.
“I think you got it,” Raynold said to himself from the edge of the ring.
After a few more vicious swings, Kromwell ceased his hacking and faced Garog, breathing hard. He had won their respect with the brutal way he’d won the fight, and he roared his victory with an inhumanly deep war cry right in their faces. The bloodlust drained from the crowd and they all took a step back. Inside his helm, Kromwell smiled, feeling their fear and savoring it.
“[King Karnas commands. We obey. One more time!]” Garog shouted to his subjects. “[Gather all tribes! We march for Fellton in ten moons!]”
