Untitled by Kenny Hendershot

“Finally!!!!” Screamed Grognag the Orc warlord. “There’s nowhere to go Arthur, the rest of your Britians have been defeated by my clan.” King Aruthur had finally been trapped in a narrow pass somewhere in Northern Wessex. Trapped between Grognag’s brute hunters and the rip in time where the Orcs came from, Aruthur began to draw his sword. Suddenly the rip started to make noise and shimmer, the orc’s prepared their shield wall and allowed Arthur to enter the formation. There was a common fear of the rips or “rifts” as the orcs called them.

“Ve ul jundaut orc” Grognag sternly remarked as he drew his pike. (Swine language) Arthur thought to himself. The rift then vanished. The Orc wall advanced  a few steps to investigate. A Maus tank then appeared and crushed half the formation. The Orcish spearman began to light their obsidian spears a flame and pelt the tank. The spears ricochet off and without any damage done. The tank crew then loaded a high explosive shell and blasted the remainder of the shield wall. Arthur was fortunately on the edge of the initial survivors and was flung against the wall of the ravine. The remaining Orcs that could still stand, ran down the path while the coax-il gunner mowed down as much as possible.

Arthur’s sword was jammed into his left calf from the explosion. His ears were still ringing from the shellshock. He laid there in pain while watching the Nazi tank rip through the horde and smash the bravest warriors benath its tracks while the machine sprayed beams into the crowd of deserters. His first thought was dragon, but no, it moved more like a tortoise. How could it be? It spewed fire like a dragon, but there was no visible flame. At the same time it caused mass explosions like the flying metal beast that came from the last rip. The tank advanced killing any Orc that moved. As he saw it go further and further away, he decided to address his wound. He slowly pulled the sword out of his leg and wrapped it as quick as possible. He saw one of the shamans across the valley trying to help Grognag. Arthur hobbled over picking up his crown on the way. Shrapnel had peppered the Chief, his chest plate was dented into his chest from the shock wave. He was no doubt going to die from his wounds, the shaman went and collected his pike from the wreckage and put it in Grognag’s hand. The Orcish horde had adopted paganism from their past coalition with Hrotgar and his armies.

Before Grognag passed, he motioned for Arthur to kneel beside him, Arthur complied. Grognag asked him to remove the amulet of his clan crest from his neck and deliver it to his son. “The survivors of today will let the rest know of the battle here. This is the second metal beast rift in a week. There will be more. We can’t stop them in a time of civil war.” said Grognag. Arthur nodded his head as he watched Grognag pass. Arthur then looked to the shaman and asked where the rest of the horde was gathered. The shaman gave him the map of all the holds and pointed to the one of which Rengar was stationed at. Arthur then began helping as many Orcs as he could out of the rubble. The shaman stayed at the side of Arthur. He could understand English from sitting in on diplomatic meetings with Grognag, but spoke very little of it himself. As they helped as many of the injured clansmen as they could they started to set up a camp. A few of the remaining officers could speak some English and had a very good understanding of it, so they spoke to Arthur. They all agreed that he was the most fit to lead the broken formation as he did defeat the saxons.

Despite their fighting the next officer in line after Grognag was Usha. A young Spearman. He communicated to his brethren that they shall now follow Arthur, some disputed it, but in the end they agreed. The Orcs held loyalty to the higher powers as the greatest virtue. Arthur asked Usha to gather what they could from the fallen because they could encounter the Norman’s who were last reported one day off shore. As they marched through the war torn country they encountered a few Norman regiments but each had no more than twenty men and were easily dealt with. The broken battalion of survivors began to gain confidence after every encounter, not losing a single man to the invades. But the metal beasts still haunted their minds. The metal dragon had ended king Alfred in a barrage of fire and shrapnel from the sky while his armies arrows barely made a scratch on the beast.

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