The Homecoming 127.

The Quirks Of Battle...

"Here sexy horsey" murmurs Dorc da Orc as he looks at one of the dead knight's mounts, which is cropping at the spring grass at the edge of the moat about twenty yards from the large ork.
"Bads horsey" mutters the ork warleader when he takes a couple of steps towards the warhorse, and it gives an alarmed neigh, before it trots away to the south.
Dorkindle grunts in disappointment, then sighs as he watches the warhorse wander away. It's not the first one he's approached, and bolted from him.
Animals inherently know when there's a threat around. And the horses of the enemy knights he's killed. Definitely know they're in danger from the large ork. Who doesn't particularly want to kill them. He just wants to fuck them.
Shaking his head, and sourly smiling. The ork weaponsmith makes his way back alongside the bank of the moat, here on the east side of castle Lé Dic. Back to where he dispatched most of the knights from the Harkonin fief. Who rode around from the south side of the massive castle, to specifically attack him.
The big, burly ork who is from the southern polar region of the world. Who is sweating in the midday, springtime sun. Comes to a stop, and grunts as he looks at the enemy across the water from him.
"Fucken now what?" mutters the warleader of the ork race as he scratches his topknot, which he dyed his favourite colour of purple during the winter. As he looks across the moat at the enemy.
They're on two of their floating rafts. Which they've poled further to the southeast corner of the massive castle, on this, it's east side.
They're much further away than any of their fellow soldiers on this side of castle Lé Dic. Who are more to either side of the trade road that leads to the main gates here on the eastern side of the massive castle that's the ancestral home of the Lé Dic family.
They're down this way, for the simple reason that there's far less defenders upon the battlements towards the southeast corner of castle Lé Dic.
And though they've only got the single scaling ladder between their two rafts. One of which is loaded with nearly a dozen soldiers from the fief across the border to the east.
They've got that ladder up, and there's a trio of them starting to head up it. And when the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks looks up. He sees just a pair of townsmen, or they could be castle servants. Above the enemy on that section of the battlements.
"Fuck" growls Dorc da Orc when he takes a step forward, and slightly slips down the small bank, and his right boot goes into the water.
He quickly steps back, and hisses like an overgrown enraged cat, as he makes a clawing motion with his left hand down at the water, which he looks at with a mix of anger and disgust upon his broad, green, brutish looking face.
"Nasty water" mutters the large ork, as he lifts his right foot up off the ground, and shakes it, trying to get the drops of water off his big, black boot.
The ork who was named warleader of his race a number of years ago by lord Farque. Sighs as he'd preferred to kill the enemy up close.
For the simple reason killing someone up close, with either your own hands, or a handheld weapon, is so much more satisfying than using a ranged, or thrown weapon.
And the fact if he throws any of his weapons at the Harkonin soldiers on the two rafts opposite him. They're going to end up in the water. Which he's certainly never going to retrieve. And no one else will go and get them for him too.
"Fucken asseyshit" growls Dorkindle at the prospect of some of his weapons at the bottom of the moat.
The big, burly ork who sees quite of few of the enemy on the two rafts looking over at him, wondering what he'll do.
Sourly smiles as he takes one of his throwing axes from the front of his weapon harness.
The large ork looks at it with fondness, as it's one he's had for many years.
As it was made by his friend, the ork smith. No Legs Munga. Who is called that, for the simple reason, he has no legs.
"Damn" murmurs Dorc da Orc in disappointment at the possibility that the throwing axe he's had with him for more than twenty years, which has been with him since before he was forced into exile from his homeland, the Ork Range. Will likely end up at the bottom of the moat, of all places, castle Lé Dic.
'You dumb fat fuck, you don't have to use your own fucking shit', the ork warleader thinks to himself, who then glares down at the skull of his mother, that's tied to his belt.
His 'Mother' has been fairly quiet during the battle for castle Lé Dic. Not saying much, apart from the usual, like hoping he gets himself killed. Or even better, he falls in the moat, and gets himself wet. Which is worse than death in the eyes of all ork kind.
"Shut your fucken whore mouth" mutters the son of the former matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks. Who he killed, which led to his exile from the Ork Range.
It was meant to be death. But the intervention of his mentor, the weaponsmaster Kull. As well as his friends, the smith, No Legs Munga. And the shaman, Onka Donka.
Who took it upon themselves to exile him, instead of letting the rest of the tribe kill him.
Which has led him to here, so many years later. Standing on the edge of the bank of the moat on the east side of castle Lé Dic. Annoyed that his 'Mother' has spoken to him. Concerning the potential loss of a number of his weapons.
"Silly fucken cuntbag" mutters the ork warleader, who after a final glare at the large ork skull tied to his belt. He must admit that she's right. Not that he'd admit that to anyone, ever.
Grunting as he returns his ork made throwing axe to the front of his weapon harness.
Dorkindle turns around and frowns, which looks like an angry scowl more than anything else.
Then he grins and murmurs "Get some" and he trots over to the nearest of the landed knights from the Harkonin fief he killed.
There he collects the dead nobleman's weapons. Then he hurries to the next dead knight from the fief across the border to the east.
The big, burly ork chuckles as he gathers all the weapons of the knights he killed. Apart from the two who ended up in the moat.
One he knocked in after hitting him with a hammer. And the other who he picked up, and threw into the water. To drown, as that particular enemy knight wore the most ridiculous looking heavy iron armour the ork warleader has ever seen.
With an arm full of human made, and human sized weapons. Dorc da Orc makes his way back to the edge of the moat.
Where he dumps all the weapons he's collected, onto the ground. He reaches down and picks up the long handled warhammer. Which could pass for one of his throwing hammers in his large hands,
"Get some!" shouts the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks as he throws the dead knight's long handled hammer at the enemy soldiers across the moat, on the two rafts up against the east wall of the massive castle that's been the home of the Lé Dic family for centuries.
"Got any more to drop on them?" asks Dalinvardél Tanith the elven spy as he stands upon the battlements above the east gate of castle Lé Dic.
"Not here, but further along the wall we have" says the Lé Dic soldier the spy Tanith is talking to.
As the elven spy from the principality of Alínlae reloads his crossbow, the soldier he's conversing with gestures in both directions along the parapet, then he says "More further out, where they haven't tried to gain the top of the wall as much".
Dalinvardél or Dalin as he's more commonly referred to by the rest of the group. nods his hooded head, then he quietly says "Pity they can't try to gain the top of the wall, where we want them to".
The soldier, one of the few experienced squad leaders in the Lé Dic army, who didn't crossover into the Harkonin fief with the rest of the fief's forces. Waves southwards along the parapet, and tells the elven spy who is in command of the defence along the east side of castle Lé Dic "There's a few of them on a couple of rafts towards the corner of the castle" he then adds "We don't exactly have a lot of men that way".
"I know" says Dalinvardél Tanith who leans forward, and looks around the merlon to their right, then after seeing what's happening down towards that end of the wall.
To be specific, across the moat, opposite that section of east wall that's under attack from a couple of rafts loaded with soldiers in baron Harkonin's army.
He adds in a slightly dry tone of voice "It's being taken care of". The experienced squad leader leans forward and looks around the merlon too, then he says "Oh" when he spots who is on the otherside of the moat opposite those enemy who are on a pair of rafts towards the southeast corner of the massive castle that's been the home of the Lé Dic family for many generations.
"Send two we can spare down to there" orders the elf who once served in one of the more prominent noble houses in his homeland of Alínlae.
The spy Tanith who has just pointed in the direction of the southeast corner of castle Lé Dic then adds "Just in case one or two of them tops the wall down that way".
"Yes sir" says the squad leader, who then looks quickly around to see who they can spare from around this part of the parapet, to help bolster the defences along the top of the wall, towards the southeast corner of the massive castle.
As he does, Dalin continues to look around the merlon to the right. And after he shoots off the quarrel in his crossbow at any enemy soldier getting on a raft directly opposite the east gates of castle Lé Dic.
He looks towards the southeast, to where he sees the large green figure of Dorc da Orc standing upon the bank across the moat.
The elven spy who hails from the principality of Alínlae, wryly smiles as he watches as the ork warleader picks up weapon after weapon from the pile at his feet.
And throws them across the moat, at the Harkonin soldiers on the two rafts towards the southeast corner of the massive castle that's the ancestral home of the Lé Dic family.
And though a weapon here or there, misses those enemy soldiers the large ork is trying to hit. Most of them do hit the soldiers in baron Harkonin's army who are on those two rafts on the water, at the base of the wall, towards the southeast corner tower of castle Lé Dic.
"Ha! Get some ya cunt!" calls out Dorc da Orc with a chuckle, after he throws a sword across the moat, which smashes into one of the enemy soldiers on one of the two rafts the large ork is targeting.
The ork warleader who has been throwing the weapons he's gathered. Predominantly at the raft with more of the Harkonin soldiers.
Picks up a longsword, and biffs it across the moat. At the other raft, the one that has the scaling ladder on it.
Dorkindle grunts in disgust, and mutters "Fucken shitballs" as the sword misses everything, and hits the wall instead.
The big, burly ork from the bottom of the world, picks up another weapon. This time a broadsword. And he pulls his right arm back like he's going to hurl a throwing knife.
Which is essentially what he does. As he biffs the broadsword across the sixty foot wide moat.
And though most of those on the raft he's targeting now. Are lying flat on their raft. Those holding the scaling ladder for those climbing it. Are either kneeling, or standing as they keep the ladder as steady as possible, against the face of the east wall of castle Lé Dic.
"Get some!" shouts the large ork in a triumphant tone as the broadsword he just threw. Smashes into one of the four Harkonin soldiers holding the scaling ladder.
It takes off the side of that enemy soldiers face, and head. Knocking him back off the raft, into the wall. Before he slips into the water. Obviously dead, as he's missing part of his head.
The death of that soldier from the fief across the border to the east. Had the desired effect that the ork weaponsmith was looking for.
The scaling ladder becoming unstable, as it slides a bit to the side. Causing those climbing it to shout out in alarm.
"Dorc gonna fucken kill 'em all" declares the warleader of the ork race, who picks up an axe, and a shortsword. Throwing them one after the other, one from each hand.
The large ork, who is running out of purloined weapons to throw. Grins in satisfaction, as the axe slams into the back of one those climbing the scaling ladder. Who is about twenty five feet up.
Who falls and drops, barely missing the raft, and those on it. Many of whom are splashed with water, when he hits the moat.
Meanwhile, the shortsword. Misses it's intended target. One of the Harkonin soldiers holding the scaling ladder.
Nevertheless, it has the desired effect the ork weaponsmith is wanting.
Having the soldier he threw it at. Ducking as he lets go of the ladder he's been helping to keep steady.
Knocking sideways, one of the other soldiers, who has come forward to help hold the scaling ladder as steady as possible.
That leaves just two others holding onto the ladder, which is already a bit off kilter. Two of them, just simply isn't enough to keep the scaling ladder, steady and still.
So it slides sideways along the face of the east wall of castle Lé Dic.
Picking up momentum fairly quickly. Then as it slides sideways, those two who are still climbing it. Jump off, and hit the water.
Before the scaling ladder crashes down upon the other floating raft. The one with more of the Harkonin soldiers upon it.
Dorc da Orc chortles as the fallen ladder smashes down onto the other raft. Knocking off a few of those soldiers on that particularly raft. And others to jump clear of it, and into the water. As the scaling ladder, smashes apart the other raft. Here, towards the southeast corner of the massive castle that's the ancestral home of the Lé Dic family.
"Hehehe told ya, me gonna take care of them cunts" says the big, burly ork, as there's just a few of the enemy soldiers on the raft that's still whole.
While the others are all in the water, as is their broken scaling ladder.
Dorkindle picks up the last sword at his feet, and biffs it across the moat at those few of the enemy on the remaining raft.
He grunts as he misses, then Dorc da Orc looks around, and frowns then mutters "Fucken now what?". As he wonders what to do.
Then the large ork, shrugs his massive shoulders, and starts heading back towards the trade road. Where the bulk of the enemy Harkonin soldiers, who aren't already on the moat, are waiting to get on a raft as the assault upon castle Lé Dic continues . . . . . .