[CaptainofDespair]

Hot, and acrid air swirled about the doomed city, a mixture of the fires consuming unnumbered corpses, the reek of the recently slain, and the sweat and tears of the populace. The ghastly smell was only matched by the equally sickening screams and howls of those who were left to the menace of the orcs. The sounds were distant, but for the young Mitharan, they were all too near and dear. Standing at the gateway of the final tier of the city’s defenses, he watched in horror, unable to save those who were now marked by death.

Turning to one of his guardsmen, who muttered a few choice words. “It is for the better, that they die now. At least they will not live to see the next dawn...” He struggled to force out the last words. “...which shall usher in the fall of our once mighty people.” A minute tear formed in the corner of his eye, but he brushed it away as quickly as it had formed. His guardsmen stared forward, unmoving and seemingly unfeeling, bearing countenances similar to that of statues.

Suddenly, another projectile came hurtling towards their position, but it was stopped by the sanctum’s walls, which shuddered under the shock of the hit. A few archers from the regular army had remained behind on the wall, rather than to push out to halt the progress of the orcs, with their comrades. They had been where the projectile had smashed into the ramparts, but they stood there no longer. Muffled screams had been heard, but they were soon pushed out of memory, to prepare for the new array of senses which bombarded all of those who were still alive.

With cloaks fluttering in the rancid breeze, Mitharan and his entourage strode out into the war-torn, and ruined tier which lay before them. As they went forth, the counselor offered a few bits of encouragement to his personal guard. “Prepare your hearts and minds, my brave allies. We go forth, to meet horrors unknown. But take heart, for there are many enemies to slay before we are to be stricken down, or recalled to evacuate.” His men gave a “Hurrah!”, and hardened their hearts for battle.

They quickly passed the rearguard stationed at the gateway of the inner sanctum. Giving a nod to the posted soldiers, the small party issued forth, entering the lower parts of the city, on the wings of caution. The dead were strewn everywhere, slumped against crates and buildings, and scattered throughout the streets. The smell as almost enough to unnerve the group, and drive them back into the sanctum. But, they carried on, wandering through the emptiness that had engulfed the alleys and side passageways. Soldier, orc, and civilian were all at the mercy of death, left to fend for themselves in the chaos of war. While they wandered, a muffled screaming could be heard emanating from a small home. Inside, orcs searched, and pursued the occupants, who had hoped to hide from the disfigured, hideous orcs. Though urgency dictated that he should move up to help those fighters on the main battle line, morality urged him to enter the home, and execute the orcs for their crimes.

Mitharan, flanked by his guard, burst in through the door, to find an orc holding a whimpering young girl by the hair, preparing to slit her throat. But, with innate agility, the counselor beat out the orc, hurling a small knife into its own throat, leaving it gasping for breath, as it fell to the floor in a pool of its own black blood. Mitharan, kneeling, spoke to the girl, in a whisper, after scanning her over for any pressing wounds. “Where is your mother, child?” The girl, still in shock, pointed to the back of the house. “Good girl...Now wait here with these men, while I go get your mother.” Cautiously, the young statesmen moved to the rear of the house, listening for any sounds, while two of his guards brought up the rear. Sweeping quickly into the next room, the two guards fanned out, slaying two orcs who were caught in the midst of their vicious reveling. Mitharan himself jumped a piece of broken furniture, thrusting his sword into the gut of a third orc, ending its life with a slash delivered to the frontal section of its vile skull, spilling brain matter onto the floor, as the creature’s body crashed through a rectangular table. The girl’s mother was quickly found, huddled underneath another miscellaneous piece of furniture. She had a few wounds, each oozing fresh blood, but none were life threatening, for the moment. Now, an escape was needed. He quickly gave an order to a few of his guardsmen. “Take these two back to the sanctum. Rejoin us when you have done this.” They nodded, in acknowledgment, and quickly gathered the girl and her mother, and whisked them out into the streets, back towards the only remaining safe ground in the city.

Mitharan, and his remaining handful of guards, were equally as quick in getting back out into the street. They went in great haste, for dire circumstance would befall them if they did not locate the main body of the remaining defenders within the tier. Rushing through the stricken city, they forced their way past collapsed buildings, overturned carts, and the countless bodies of the dead. At last, after following the sounds of battle, they burst out from an alley, into an empty street. “There’s no one here, milord,” muttered one the soldiers. “I can see that. I was sure they were here. From the walls I saw this spot, and I saw the carnage of battle...” The counselor sulked, demoralized. Then, the earth shuddered, and began to quake. The sounds of feet, ironshod feet, those of orcs, came rumbling forth, and encircled them. “We’re trapped, milord.” The soldier caught the glare of his lord. “Yes, I can see that quite well.”

Grunting and hissing, the orcs issued forth from the shadows, as if they were a great, impenetrable wall, one which no man could enter. The ravenous lust for battle, bloodshed, and death, drove these orcs to the point where any number of foes, no matter how small, would be hunted down and massacred, without quarter. Ever so slowly, they pressed in, forming a wall of bodies that could only be broken by strength of arms. There were not many, but it was more than enough to outnumber Mitharan and his guard. Then, they came. In small groups they rushed out from their line, to give an attempt at slaying their foes. They were all quickly dispatched, with helms splintered, innards disemboweled, and heads cleaved clean off. The soldiers fought valiantly alongside their lord, but it was not enough. The orcs now attacked en masse, and a free for all melee ensued, tossing organization to the wind. But slowly, each man was hemmed in, cut off from his brothers, and left to fend for himself. But, without warning, a horn blew from the street leading back to the sanctum.

The few guardsmen that had been sent off to escort the woman and child, had returned, with aid. Mitharan’s father, learning of his son’s mind, gathered his own loyal guards, and went out to bring him back. This twist of events emboldened Mitharan and his entrapped guard. They now fought harder, and with allies pressing in from the outside, the orcs were in dire straits. And then, the orcs broke rank, and fled back from whence they came. But the young counselor would not let them escape so easily. He hunted down the few stragglers, and brought swift death to them, hacking off their heads, which spewed charred blood into the streets. His father however, bearing a sounder mind, grabbed his son by the shoulder, and attempted to instill some form of reason into his mind. “My son, you cannot save the city. However valiant you may be, you cannot prevail with such small numbers. Please, gather your senses, and return back to the sanctum. We are to begin preparing for evacuation.” Mitharan, seeing the reason his father preached, sighed, and turned to flee back to the well protected sanctum. Then, he pointed to a few guards. “Take the bodies of our fallen comrades. We shall not leave them to the orcs, for they derive strength from feasting on the corpses.”