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Post by Oorga on Sept 27, 2009 18:27:39 GMT -5
The waving Orismer flag that stood perched atop the main tent in the center of the encampment was magnificent; A tall, thin wooden pole that went up at least 15 feet. Atop was a long red tapestry that bared the symbol of the Orismer. It was saddening that this flag could no longer hang atop the city of Orsinium. However, that would be changed in due time. It was in this camp, high in the mountains outside of the province that housed their new enemies, that housed the invasion force. It was composed of over 75 orcs and several freelance mercenaries. This was not enough, however. Oorga knew this. The giant monster just couldn't give up though. Not now. Not after his home was just snatched out of his grasp like a toy.
Oorga knew that this mission was destined to fail. There were multiple stages to his plan and there were just too many soldiers in the land of High Rock. Peace was impossible. Resistance and retraction seemed to be their only options.
No.. Retraction was not possible. Not after what happened. Those filthy little runts needed to pay. Soon.
Oorga quit gazing up at the flag, realizing it was nearly time for the briefing of their first stage. The giant orc chieftain retreated into his tent to prepare.
It was nearly time to reclaim what was once his. |
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Post by Deceit on Sept 28, 2009 16:54:45 GMT -5
Oonta, leader of a small squadron of ten, a large number to lead given the minimal amount of Orcish troops present for the assignment given, strode toward the tent. He stood as a tall and imposing figure among Orcs, and of course, the gazes of his comrades gradually shifted to him. Oonta had scars from battle, and was reknown for both ferocity and as a great instigator of the New Orsinium movement. He moved with his armor fully attatched, all but his helmet, which hung from a string behind him, along his back. The tusks that hung out the front of his jaw were large, complimenting the grizzly appearance of his missing eye. He wore no eyepatch, the entire eye was slashed so that he couldn't open it anyway, and appeared just a vertical slit.
His axe was out, and hanging down by his side, clutched tightly in his left hand. It was a huge battle axe, requiring two hands for optimum wielding. The blade was orcish, and wonderfully crafted, sharp as the razors edge and heavy enough to split through the toughest armors. Oonta's imposing form came right inside of the briefing tent, pushing passed the flaps and walking in, signalling his two guards to stay back, he looked at his commanding officer and gave a respectful salute and a beastly growl of respect and a tinge of bloodlust,
"Oonta Leksh, reporting in as commanding officer of the 21st squadron, northern border guard. I lead ten strong clan Babzubda soldiers. We serve you with our hearts; even if by the end of the day they remain only on a platter!" He gave another salute, bowed in deference, then rose. More officers would eventually pile in, and they would be briefed on battle strategies. Oonta knew that they'd have to work for this high ground, if they all charged up the hill half of them would be dead before they even got to level ground, let alone TO the enemy soldiers. They were bound to have here there shabby defense emplacements, bunkers maybe.( god help them! )
Yes, it would take a lot of planning, but Oonta believed in the Orc's cause, and sheer Orc ferocity. The brave souls that would lose their lives for this cause did make him wince just tiny bit in thinking.
But then, what better reason to die?
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