Ahedak’s sandaled feet crunched through the snow. His warriors grumbled over the cold as they marched behind him. Let them whine and bellyache about their burdens. It was their own weakness that left them burdened with heavy armor, the cold metal biting their frail skins. He needed no such protections. He was faster than wind, lighter than flame, and hard as stone. The cold didn’t bother him at all.
He thought about his encounter with the strangers as he walked. He probably should have killed them and taken their hair, but he needed them to witness what the twice cursed blood elves were up to. If he could turn the elves and humans against each other it would be a clever victory. But not all the grumblings he heard were about the weather; some would think him weak for letting them go. He’d silenced them with a icy glare, but when the gossip went around the camp he’d probably have to put some bolder hobgoblins back in their place.
Ahedak prided himself on being clever, and he thought offering them a “Yule gift” was particularly crafty. What a stupid human custom it was to give things away to those too weak to take them by force. But it suited Ahedak’s purposes perfectly. He spared their lives so they would unwittingly do his bidding, and he probably spared his own warriors at the same time. The stranger with the orc-blood looked worthy of respect. He would have died, of course, maybe honoring himself in the blood of hobgoblin enemies, but Ahedak didn’t want to waste the soldiers yet. It was rare to see a true warrior among those thin skins.
They returned to their camp. It was well hidden, especially considering the size of his contingent. He walked toward his tent, acknowledging the salutes from the troops as he walked through. The yaks that brought the supply wagon were still alive and fed, which was something. The hunting parties must have been enjoyed success so far. The smell of meat coming from the cook fires confirmed his suspicions.
But the overall mood was a surly one. Warriors earned the right not to be assigned chores, but they no longer had enough servants in camp after that group of laborers snuck off in hopes of making names for themselves. The remaining laborers were being worked almost ceaselessly, but the soldiers were still obliged to pitch in, and nobody was happy about it. Those fool deserters were all dead now, and good riddance. If they had been captured they could have ruined everything, damn them.
He’d just reached his tent when the camp erupted in alarm. Weapons were being drawn and soldiers were shouting and running. Ahedak turned and saw the cause for concern. They had visitors. There were five of them, each almost twice as tall as a hobgoblin. They had thick legs, long arms, and faces with varying distorted features. They were covered in muscle, greasy hair, and bad pelts, and carried large clubs. One had a worg on a chain, the beast straining its collar to try and enter the camp.
Ogres. Wicked and brutal. Their strength should have made them useful but their uncontrolled depravity was their constant downfall. They delighted in torture and cruelty, even amongst themselves, stooping as low as incest and cannibalism. Useless, and a waste. They must have either seen smoke or the worg smelled the roasting meat.
The hobgoblins had gathered in a line in front of the ogres, with swords drawn and bows bent. None of them wanted to get too close. Except for Ahedak. He pushed through the ranks and faced the biggest ogre, standing over ten feet tall, who stepped forward to address the crowd.
“Give me your food, one of the animals, and five of your own to be toys” it said. It spoke in Giant, not caring if it was understood or not.
Ahedak understood, though, and ogres had an interesting notion of “toys”. “Go away. This our food. Find easier toys.”
The ogre was surprised to hear its own language, but not pleased by what he heard. “Wet little fecal blob, I crush you all if you no give me tribute.” (Gently translated from Giantish)
“Go fornicate with tree. Make ugly pinecone babies. You don’t deserve.”
The giant’s grip on his club tightened. “I save your death for last. Turn YOU into pinecone baby.”
“I make YOUR death first. I challenge you. Your family will see you are weak.”
All of the ogres burst out laughing. “You stupid and little. Too dumb to have weapon even. But I accept. I win. Take food, BOTH animals, five toys, and I eat you.”
“And when I win, I take your pet.”
“Agreed. Me am Chodo Fingerslobber. Me kill you, eat you, make you into excrements, then doggie eat you and make you into excrements too. Har ha ha!”
“I am Ahedak, Champion of Corpsemaker Tribe. I am faster than wind, lighter than flame, harder than stone. You be prettier when you dead!”
The ogres and hobgoblins all took a few steps back to make room. Chodo roared and stepped forward, swinging low at his unarmed opponent. But Ahedak was ready. He nimbly jumped over the club, lighter than fire, and raced inside Chodo’s reach to drive a powerful side kick to the inside of his knee.
Chodo’s battle roar changed to pain and surprise when the ligaments in his knee made a satisfying popping sound. Ahedak rolled to the side, but Chodo kept his balance and brought his club down in a powerful hit. Ahedak only barely turned it into a glancing blow that kept him from being crushed.
He moved in again, more cautiously, wanting to hit the damaged knee. Chodo was doing a fair job keeping the injured leg away from him, so he found a different, better target. He threw a powerful uppercut into Chodo’s groin, harder than stone. The other ogres winced involuntarily; an ogre’s status in its tribe depended on its strength and virility. Threatening either was one of the few things that would give an ogre pause.
Chodo doubled over in pain and made a clumsy grab at Ahedak, but he was faster than wind. He leapt up, using the ogre’s bent knee to propel himself higher for an over handed punch that landed on his lower jaw, shattering and separating it from the joint. He then grabbed the ogre’s hair, swinging up onto its shoulders, grabbing and twisting Chodo’s head until the neck snapped.
He rode Chodo’s body to the ground. As terrible as the ogre smelled Ahedak was fairly sure it made “excrements” of its own as it breathed its last. The remaining ogres looked at each other with anger and uncertain fear while the hobgoblins, emboldened by their leader’s victory, began to inch forward. Their mixed growls and laughter made an intimidating chorus.
Ahedak stepped toward the ogres. “Now I kill next chief unless you leave doggie and run away. NOW!” They looked at their companion that held the worg’s leash, who reluctantly tossed the chain toward Ahedak. The creature looked at its former masters and sat. It was probably smarter than the ogres, and considering its mangy condition it probably recognized its change in fortune as an improvement. The ogres backed up slowly, eyeing both Ahedak and their fellows hatefully before turning and walking away. Between blaming each other for their failure and trying to agree on a new chief they’d probably kill each other before nightfall.
He called for some of his troops to take the beast away. It was semi-willing. He’d probably lose a few hobgoblins while breaking the worg for use as a mount, but it would be worth the sacrifice. Even one mounted warrior would be advantageous. He should have been provided with some anyway when he came out here. Feeding it would be a burden, but then again there was plenty of extra meat on good-old Chokol Pigger Flopper, or whatever the ogre called itself.
Ahedak made a second trip through the camp. This time morale was noticeably improved. There’d be no grumbling about showing the Albionites mercy after his lopsided victory over the intruders. To the contrary, some of the female soldiers were eyeing him intensely. At least one would probably seek him out tonight.
He wasn’t normally keen on mating below his caste, but the winter bivouac had been fairly boring and tedious so far. Males and females were equally successful Corpsemaker warriors, and he wouldn’t be surprised if almost half of his force was pregnant already. Hobgoblins mated as often as they fought, and they never got enough of either. That was fine. They’d be entirely battle-ready for most of their pregnancies, and the laborers would help rear the whelps after. He would have to get more laborers, or some slaves, soon.
Ahedak returned to his tent to find it prepared for his arrival. The brazier was lit and his board was laid. There was also a letter accompanied by a package, which was unusual. He opened both after lighting a lamp. New orders from the higher ups. No, not new orders, additional orders. He growled to himself as he read. Not only was he to waylay the blood elves, he was supposed to hunt humans as well?
Ahedak,
Recover an intact specimen for the artillerists to study. The humans are rumored to have larger ones. Seize one and deliver it. Continue your current mission as well.
~General Mulplish
Ahedak looked at the contents of the package in his lap. It was terribly damaged. About the length of a long dagger, it consisted of a metal tube and a broken piece of wood that must have been a handle or hilt. Where the two connected there were odd holes; pieces of the device were obviously missing. It smelled faintly of smoke.
He thought on this for some time, his food forgotten in his deep contemplative state. His lamp ran out of fuel just before he finished, and he sat in the dark with the item on his lap. He was no closer to formulating a plan when his tent door opened. A warrior entered and made a ribald suggestion that was creative enough to pique his interest. Her skill on the battlefield was well known among the troops, and the braids she glued to her head were long and many. She was as close to his caste as he would find out here. Plans could wait for tomorrow.