The Homecoming 120.

Warleader...

"Krom runs beside me, Krom is with me" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he finishes the traditional ork chant as he runs.
The ork warleader who has taken a spear from across back, then howls like the totem of his tribe, a wolf.
Then letting out a squeal like an enraged pig, which he follows with a "Get some!" he throws the spear he's holding in his right hand.
The spear goes nearly ninety yards, and slams into the chest of one the mounts of the knights who have ridden around from the south side of castle Lé Dic. Who are now charging the large ork from the bottom of the world.
The barding of the warhorse doesn't save it. As the spear goes through it, deep into the chest. And the animal cartwheels forward, throwing the knight on it's back out of the saddle.
Which illicits a loud chortle from the warleader of the ork race, who is huffing and puffing in the spring sun as he runs parallel to the moat, here along the east side of castle Lé Dic.
One of the following mounts, jumps the downed horse. While another of the knights has to swerve his mount to one side, to avoid the knight who has been thrown from the saddle, who is staggering to his feet.
"Ride it down!" shouts sir Parnak who leads the landed knights from the Harkonin fief, who have ridden around from the south side of the massive castle that's been the home of the Lé Dic family for centuries.
The rotund knight in the suit of heavy iron armour. Rides around sir Timack's warhorse. Narrowly avoiding sir Timack himself, who almost staggers infront of the rotund knight's mount.
Sir Parnak wishes they had lances, as he can see that they would be ideal to take on the large green creature, which is apparently an ork, who they're riding towards. And who is running at them, not caring that there's seven, well six now. Heavily armoured knights on their warhorses, charging towards him.
"Harkonin!" shouts sir Parnak, which is echoed by the other five landed knights from the Harkonin fief who are still in the saddle, as they near the big, burly looking ork.
"Fucken get some!" yells Dorkindle in response to the enemy knights shouting "Harkonin!".
The large ork, who has taken a throwing hammer from the front of his weapon harness. Looks at the two knights in baron Harkonin's army who are infront, riding side by side.
While the third, who is in heavy iron armour of all things, is slightly behind them. The other three still in the saddle, are spread out a bit more behind them.
While the one who is horseless, is staggering as he runs in this direction. Following further back than his fellow nobleborn knights from the fief across the border to the east.
With a wide grin splitting his broad, green, feral looking face. Dorc da Orc biffs the throwing hammer at the enemy knight in the front on the right, then dives forward, and crash tackles the legs of the warhorse on the left. The ork weaponsmith roars as he does so.
The landed knight on the right, who wisely had a cavalry shield up on one arm. Is flung backwards out of his saddle when the ork throwing hammer slams into his raised shield.
While the warhorse on the left, along with it's rider. As well as one roaring, and enraged ork warleader. Go tumbling sideways, in a flurry of flailing limbs. From the force of the impact of the large ork tackling the front legs of the charging warhorse.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world. Grunts as he goes tumbling to one side, with a warhorse and it's armoured rider, tumbling over, and with him.
The mount whinnies in pain from a pair of broken front legs. While the knight, who miraculously stays in the saddle. Shouts in anger, then in pain. As first his own horse rolls over him. Then the large ork does, as all three of them tumble across the ground.
"Oowww bads horsey" mutters Dorkindle when a flailing hoof whacks him in the mouth, as he, the warhorse, and the knight, still in the saddle, roll away a couple more times before finally coming to a stop.
The ork warleader, who finds himself lying half over the badly injured mount, grunts, then punches down at the knight in baron Harkonin's army. Who is still in the saddle, pinned by his own horse, and a rather large ork.
The big, meaty fist of the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks, slams into the full helm, that's slightly askew on the head of the nobleborn knight, who is groaning in pain.
Dorc da Orc chuckles as he caves in the steel helm of the enemy knight, as blood flies out of the breathing slots in the faceplate of the full helm.
Then the large ork groans, then mutters "Fucken bitchtitty cuntass" as he rolls off the dying horse, holding his left side.
Sir Parnak mutters "Fuck" as sir Lameré goes flying backwards out of the saddle, and by him to his left.
And then the rotund knight in the heavy iron plate, has to yank on the reins of his horse, to the left. To avoid sir Robaré and his warhorse. Who have just crashed into the large green creature. Or it's smashed into them. He's not too sure. As he's too busy trying to steer his mount out of the way. As they all go tumbling to one side from the violent impact.
The landed knight, who leads the noblemen who have ridden around from the south side of castle Lé Dic to confront what's apparently an ork, that's made it across the moat, and is amongst baron Harkonin's army here on the east side of the massive castle.
Pulls sharply back on the reins, trying to bring his warhorse to a halt, and bring it back around.
The rotund knight looks quickly back, and mutters "By the gods" as he momentarily forgets he's converted to the old druidic ways of worship. As he sees the large green creature, stumbling to it's feet next to the downed warhorse of sir Robaré.
The other three landed knights from the Harkonin fief who are in the saddle, have wisely slowed down as they approach to where the creature is.
Sir Parnak gets his mount around, and he rides back, as he does, he spots sir Lameré, with what's obviously a broken right arm, struggling to his feet.
While back in the direction they've come from, he sees sir Timack in the distance, stumbling this way.
The nobleman who leads the landed knights who have been sent around to this side of castle Lé Dic, rides back to where the others are now surrounding the large green creature. Though keeping well back from it.
Dorkindle winces in pain, as it feels like he's got some cracked ribs along his left side. Then he looks up and sees that the enemy knights are circling him. There's three still in the saddle, while a fourth, the one in the heavy iron plate armour, rides up and joins them.
The large ork ignores the two on foot, one who is about thirty yards away, clutching a broken right arm, unsteady on his feet, as he looks this way.
While another is further back, closer to the moat, stumbling in this direction from where his warhorse was killed by the spear thrown by the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks.
The big, burly ork who was named warleader of his race by lord Farque a number of years ago. Looks back in the direction of the trade road that leads to the gates on this side of the massive castle.
Most of the enemy soldiers yet to get on the water, are on either side of it. With very few in this direction. The closest of the soldiers in baron Harkonin's army, are on the moat itself. Polling a couple of rafts southwards along the moat. Hoping to put up their scaling ladders towards the southeast corner of the east wall. Where there isn't that many defenders to repel them.
"Me deal to those fuckers, after me kills these knight cunts dead" murmurs Dorc da Orc in the totally incomprehensible language of his race as he looks from the nearby enemy upon the moat, to the mounted knights who have circled him. Keeping about fifty feet back.
Quickly looking at the weapons the nobleborn knights from the Harkonin fief have got, and snorting in derision.
The large ork, who is standing next to the dying horse, and the dead knight pinned beneath it. Steps over to where the dead nobleman is lying beneath the flailing warhorse.
Dorkindle with a throwing axe taken from the front of his weapon harness. Slams it down into the neck of the dead knight. Easily cutting through the steel gorget, and through the chainmail neck piece beneath it. Down through the throat and neck, cutting off the head.
The ork weaponsmith picks up the head by the visor of the full helm that's still on it.
He looks at the enemy knights who are still mounted and grins at them before he tips up his face, holds the head in the helm above it, and lets the blood pouring from it, fall on his upturned face.
Dorc da Orc opens his mouth, letting blood from the head he's holding run into it, then still grinning, though it's a bloody grin. He looks at each of the mounted knights, the fourth of whom, brings his horse to a stop, as the four of them basically surround him.
Sir Parnak almost vomits up what he had for breakfast when he sees what the large green creature does with sir Robaré's head. Then the rotund knight in the heavy iron plate armour. After seeing that it's pretty much intact after the violent collision between it and sir Robaré's mount, orders the other three nobleborn knights to dismount.
"We'll take it on foot" says the rotund knight as he gets down out of the saddle, he looks away to the right and calls out "Hurry up Lameré!".
With his faceplate up, and holding his shattered right arm, sir Lameré grimaces as he limps this way.
Sir Parnak then looks away to the south, and sourly smiles as he sees sir Timack staggering this way, almost walking into the moat as he does so.
The rotund knight shakes his full helmed head, and though he has a broadsword at his side. Which he's fairly capable with. His weapon of choice is a heavy warhammer, which he takes from where it's strapped behind his saddle.
He then nods to the other there landed knights who have also dismounted. Sir Galbín, whose steel armour has almost a copper tone to it. Sir Amarnéré, the youngest and largest of them, whose suit of steel plate armour, has a white sheen to it. Except his full helm, which is black. The faceplate of which, has a bird like beak to it.
And sir Rogarsen, who is in plain, but solid steel armour. But has a white cape attached to the top of his armoured shoulder plates. Which flows out behind him. In obvious imitation of the famous sir Percavelle Lé Dic. The only other knight, wether landed or ordered, here in eastern Druvic. Who wears a cape.
With his warhammer in his gauntleted hands, sir Parnak looks at the blood soaked grinning face of the large green creature, which form it's behaviour, probably is an ork.
And he says to his fellow nobleborn knights from the Harkonin fief "Kill it!".
Dumb fucks, Dorc da Orc thinks to himself as he looks at the four enemy knights who have dismounted, and are now approaching him.
The ork weaponsmith who hails from the southern polar region of the world, quickly looks at the nobleborn knight in the iron plate armour, who holds a long handled warhammer.
He seems to be the one in command. But it's not who the big, burly ork attacks first. It's the one in the suit of plain looking steel armour. For the simple reason that landed knight from the Harkonin fief reminds him of sir Percavelle Lé Dic, with that white cape he's wearing,
With a head in a full helm in one hand, and a throwing axe in the other. Dorkindle let's out a loud roar, followed by a "Get some!".
Then he throws the head in the helm, and because he's naturally ambidextrous, as are all orks. He biffs the throwing axe in his other hand, an instant after he throws the bloody head in the helm.
The head in the helm is thrown so hard, and so quick. That there's no way that sir Rogarsen can avoid it.
The head in the helm slams into his midriff, denting the lower half of his breastplate. And doubling him over.
Which is rather unfortunate for him. Because the throwing axe hurled at him. Hits him right then, in the top of the helm as he's doubled over, bent forward.
The axehead drives through the steel helm, into his skull and into his brain.
And though his head violently rocked back from the axe hitting the top of it.
He folds forward almost slowly, and doubles over completely, with his head hitting the ground, while his legs are still stiff, keeping the lower half of his body upright. He precariously balances there, even though he's dead.
The other three landed knights from the fief across the border to the east all pause as they see what's just happened to sir Rogarsen.
Who head down, ass up. Balances there, dead. With his cape fluttering in a slight breeze that's come along the east side of castle Lé Dic.
Of course, this has caused Dorc da Orc to chortle in glee, as he can't ever recall killing someone, who has ended up like how the landed knight wearing the white cape has just died.
Then with his broad, green, brutish looking face covered with human blood, he takes a hammer from his belt, and shouts "Fucken get some ya cunts!" in the common language.
Dorc da Orc then moves towards the other knights in baron Harkonin's army, who are close by. Determined to kill them all, for daring to confront him in battle. Him, the ork leader of war . . . . . .