Tusk and Iron
He could almost hear the barked instructions of his drill master, Barden Gimon, an ancient and famed warrior within the Remnant.
"We are here to bring justice and order to the plane. This cannot be accomplished without harmony in the ranks. The tusks of the Loxodon are as important as the talons of a Kenku. We fight as one - or injustice will prevail." the elder Loxodon had called out. It seemed like such a lifetime ago, and now here he was, marching in a foreign army towards a horde of orcs.
"You will never decide what wars will be fought. Only the outcomes of the battles you fight in," Barden had once said while they had moved tokens across a map and theorized strategies against the Rakdos Guild.
It was nearing the end of drilling when Meraki had approached Dolmen. The dwarf was sitting near a fire and polishing his battle axe with a care a diligence which spoke to years of practice. Meraki smiled slightly, recognizing the practiced movements as a pre-battle ritual. Every soldier had something they did before bloodshed. Whether it was drinking a gallon of wine, polish and sharpen their blades, or lay with as many women as they can find and pay there was always something they did. Meraki casually sat down on a wooden log, his own size taking up the entirety of the log which could seat three men. Dolmen looked up and smiled at him, eyes distant. Meraki shouldered off his shield off and dug a polishing cloth out of his satchel. With the same practice and care as the dwarf, he proceeded the polish the shield to a dull shine.
"Careful," Dolmen said, "You'll blind all the orcs before they even crash our lines."
"That's the plan," Meraki said with a wink. He had already completed polishing the shield earlier and was touching it up more as an icebreaker. He gingerly lay the shield down across one side of the log and unslung his warhammer. This ritual was a little different. He began to roll the warhammer in the dirt, coating the weapon in the dried and cake mud of the mustering camp. Dolmen frowned at the display.
"Not going to clean that one up?" he asked.
"They'll be blood on it soon enough. I'd rather dirty it myself first," Meraki said. Dolmen nodded solemnly, accepting the response. They sat in silence for nearly ten minutes, tending to their own rituals and grimly accepting what was to come. Dolmen, content with his work, placed his weapon aside, and looked to Meraki.
"I can't put you in the van today," he said finally. Meraki continued to dirty his warhammer and nodded.
"I know." he replied. Dolmen blinked with genuine surprise. Meraki noticed and let out a deep rumbling chuckle.
"I'd break the shield wall. That's a good way to end up with an orc's axe buried in my skull and the line broken," he added.
"You've fought before I take it?"
"Many times." Meraki replied. Dolmen stared at the Loxodon intently and then sighed as the realization passed over him like a wave.
"You were never going to fight in the shield wall," he said.
"No."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"And undermine your authority in front of your men? No I let them get comfortable with me. I know my kind is a rarity in these parts,"
"Where will you be then? In the reserves?"
"Not there either. I've got something more elaborate in mind." he said.
A few hours later, at the dawn, they were marching forward. Meraki strode forward, his armor gleaning, his warhammer caked in mud and dirt. Red stripes were painted down his face, an offering to his Guildmaster Aurelia, the Red Angel. Dolmen strode beside him, his battle axe held across his chest and the tabard of the Lords' Alliance draped proudly over his armor. Ahead of them, the warriors of the vanguard marched abreast to one another, feet stomping out a rhythmic cadence which caused Meraki's heart to swell with pride. Beside him walked a young human squire named Barel Nenn. Meraki had seen him drilling before and struggling to keep up with the rest of the soldiers. He was clearly green and sweat dripped down his face. His eyes were fixed on the milling black tide of orcs pouring out of the blistering war camp in the distance. Their grunts, roars, and battle cries were echoing throughout the Hotenaw Cradle. It was clear to see the orcs vastly outnumbered them 3 to 1.
"Is this your first battle?" Meraki asked. Barel nodded quickly, his pale heads flexing over the hilt of his sword he held out in front of him. Meraki reached over with his trunk and pushed the blade down.
"We've got a ways to go before you'll be needing that," he said. "Let it rest, save your strength." The boy nodded again.
"T-th-thank you Ser." he said.
"I'm not a knight boy," Meraki said.
"Sorry Ser, I figured because of your...umm well,"
"My what? My tusks? My trunk? You've clearly got the wrong impression of what makes a knight,"
"What...ummm...well then, what does make a knight,"
"In my experience. Gold and a little luck," Meraki replied and smiled as he saw Dolmen chuckle beside him. Barel smiled meekly and continued to stare at the horde of orcs growing closer.
"Think we'll win?" he asked.
"I'd like to. I'd rather not die today," Meraki replied. Barel ignored the response and stared glumly out onto the battlefield.
"Think I'll be alright?" he finally asked.
"Keep your guard up - your eyes open - and don't run. You can come out of this alive but you will never be the same," Meraki said. Barel frowned at him and Meraki continued.
"Every soldier returns from battle changed: by hardship, by blood, by a glimpse of glory." he said, quoting his old teacher.
"I see," Barel replied with a nod. "Thank you," he added. "You've given me courage."
"Your welcome - now don't be foolish and let it get you killed. Courage is what Knights call recklessness. Fight smart. Fight with this," he said and tapped the boy's head with his trunk. "And this," he finished and tapped the sword.
A war horn sounded and the army shifted around them in response. Dolmen placed a winged helm on his head and shifted his grip on his battle axe.
"It's time," he said and moved forward to call out commands. The line tightened, shields coming up and then eventually the Lords' Alliance force was called to a halt. The shield wall snapped together, a stalwart bastion of iron and steel. Pikes shot out all at different lengths and were braced behind. Two Knights on horseback which Meraki recognized as Torgad and Sildar rode along the line, inspecting it's integrity. Content with their formation, they raised their swords.
"Awake Warriors! Let them taste our blades," Torgad bellowed. There was a deafening chorus of shouts and cheers from the army, Meraki brandished his war hammer and swung it above his head, letting out a fearsomely loud trumpet from his trunk. Torgad and Sildar rode off through and opening in the lines which rapidly closed around them. The orcs surged forward in the distance. Meraki could make out individual ones now, a milling tide of fury and rage.
"Let em hear it lads," called Dolmen. The men all drew closer to their shields and what sounded like a low pulsing murmur began to permeate through the ranks. As he listened, Meraki heard the swelling crescendo and decrescendo of the battle cry spreading throughout the ranks. At first he thought it sounded somewhat foolish but he blinked in astonishment as he saw the charging orcs faltering, even slightly. The murmur was more of a roar now, swelling and falling. A rhythmic tide of noises; their faces held closer to their shields to amplify their voices. Meraki took up position and held his own shield to his face, adding his colossal baritone to the roiling dirge. The orcs continued on but Meraki could see the smallest amount of hesitation in them as they rampaged forward.
"Hold the line!" Dolmen called out. "Brace!" he said. A moment later chaos ensued.
The first wave of orcs smashed into the protruding pikes like a wave crashing on a rocky shoal. Pikes snapped, men were thrown back and others cried out as their knees buckled under the surging tide of muscle and blood. The entire shield wall rippled along the vanguard as the tide of orcs pressed into it with unrelenting force. The noise was deafening. The clash of steel, the press of bodies, the roar of the orcs. Meraki heard the whistling of arrows zipping overhead and saw the hail raining into the orcs and killing dozens of them with a single volley. The line broke in a few places and soldiers with axes quickly cut down the rampaging orcs, the line reforming behind them quickly. Meraki waded forward and swung his warhammer in a wide one-armed arc which connected with a smaller orc who had vaulted over the throng of the shieldwall and landed atop on of the soldiers, killing him with a rapid series of blows to the man's chest with a crooked dagger. The orcs head let out a sickening crunch and crack and it's limp body fell to the ground. He moved forward, studying the line and then looked to Dolmen. The line had held. Their first victory. His eyes flicked back to the horde of orcs swelling to either of their flanks and a chill ran down his spine. The rest of the orcs were moving around their flanks, their superior numbers allowing them to encircling the Lord's Alliance force.
"Cover the flanks!" Dolmen bellowed and a few of the secondaries in the shield wall moved off the line. It was a necessary tactic but would weaken the line as a whole, stretching their forces thin. Along the line, the orcs slowly began to gain ground. Massive hands reached over and grabbed soldiers screaming from the line and tossed them flailing back into the sea of blood and blades. Rusty scimitars hacked through the steel and wood of the shield and crushed skulls. Meraki cursed as he saw a tall lumbering figure wading through the orcs in the distance.
"They have a cave troll," he cursed to Dolmen.
"Now's the time for your plan," he said, Meraki nodded. Dolmen hurried off and called back a few members in the rear hefting large tower shields. They moved forward and formed three parallel lines, slinging the shields over their backs. At Dolmen's word, the crouched, kneeling, or bent over, bracing themselves against one another, forming an escalating ramp, it's peak near the back of the shield wall. Dolmen tapped Meraki on a large padded leg and Meraki reached down to pick him up.
"You're not tossing me you bloody fool. If we're doing this - we're doing it my way," Dolmen said. Meraki shrugged and knelt down, the dwarf crawling up onto his back and perching himself on his shoulder.
"You sure you want to do this?" Dolmen asked.
"No," Meraki replied.
"That makes two of us," he said and he let out another bellowing warcry with Meraki trumpeted to in reply. He surged forward, massive feet stomping on the ground and ran up the ramp. He felt the shields shifting under his weight but the men held their ground. As he reached the edge he leaped forward, putting everything he had into his legs. He flew over the lines, dwarf hanging onto his ear and waving a battle axe wildly. The orcs below him looked up in genuine astonishment as he sailed over them only to come crashing down on one large one who looked particularly bewildered. He felt the bones of the orcs snap and break under his feet as he crushed the beast and was already swinging his warhammer, cracking the jaw of one charging orc and ripping the head clean off another. Dolmen jumped down with another battle cry and brought his axe down vertically, cutting an orc clean through and splitting the putrid beast in two. They stood back to back, or as well as they could, and began the deadly dance of blades with the slowly recovering orcs.
Despite their superior numbers, their short scimitars were not able to close with the reach of the Loxodon's warhammer or best the prowess of a practiced warrior such as Dolmen. Orcs were cut and cleaved as they tried to surge forward, a few managing to get in wicked cuts and scrapes but none able to deliver a killing blow. Meraki's warpaint was now mixed with blood and he could heard Dolmen panting behind him. He knew that eventually they would be overwhelmed but he just needed to hold out more. He had looked over at the line where they had crossed and the soldiers had taken the brief reprieve they provided to reinforce the line.
"Good," he thought as he brought his warhammer up in an upwards swing, ripping the jaw off a slobbering orcs who had tried to move in under his guard.
The ground shook around him and he looked up to see the cave troll moving through the tide of orcs, closing on them.
"He's coming," Meraki called out.
"Good, let him come." Dolmen said, a wild fury in his eyes. Meraki turned to the opening that was forming as the cave troll lumbered forward. It raised it's massive club and pointed it at them, the orcs nearby roaring in approval.
"One more time?" Meraki said. Dolmen frowned and then realized what he was suggesting.
"Let's hope you polished it well enough," the dwarf replied. They moved forward towards the cave troll, Dolmen running close behind Meraki. As they closed the distance, Meraki dropped to his knees and hefted his shield in front of him. His eyes darted through the fog of war, a thousand feet kicking dust into the air.
"C'mon where is it," he muttered. He saw it and he tilted the polished surface of his shield up, catching the light from the smothered sun. As he did, Dolmen ran up his back, bellowing another war cry in dwarvish and raised his battle axe over his head. The cave troll growled and reared back with his club, positioning himself perfectly to deliver the killing blow to Dolmen. Suddenly, light flickered into his eyes and he grimaced, staggering backwards as the light reflected from Meraki's polished shield. The cave troll recovered quickly, ducking under the light and surging forward to gain lost ground - a surge forward which brought him right into the blade of Dolmen's axe. The axe sunk deep into the meat of the trolls head with a squelching crack of skull and flesh. Dolmen held on as the troll stumbled forwards and backwards, dropping his club onto a nearby orc and crushing it with a pitiful squeal.
"Die you filthy bastard," Dolmen bellowed as blood and brain matter spewed out of the wound onto his face. Finally, with one last staggering grunt, the troll stepped backwards, tripping over some orcs trying to get away from the staggering colossus. He fell backwards, crushing two orcs beneath him and let out a guttural belch - breathing his last. Meraki was already moving forward, slamming one charging orc with his warhammer and driving the pommel of the weapon through the eye of another. He moved quickly to Dolmen's side as the dwarf staggered to his feet. The orcs were recovering from the shock at the fallen troll and their fervor and rage intensified. Meraki looked over his shoulder at the lines of the Lords' Alliance; they were too far.
"If it must be now then - so be it," he said and hefted his warhammer at the ready.
Suddenly, the orcs started to move differently. He could see over their heads, others were running away. In the distance, orcs were running in fear from the gates of Krogar Grul, others around them starting to break in panic.
"What is happening?" called Dolmen from below as he flicked a small throwing knife from his belt and threw it into an orc's head.
"We're winning this fight," Meraki said as he struck down three orcs with a speed akin to an Elven Blade Dancer. Horns sounded on their flanks and Meraki saw the banners of charging cavalry on long spears flapping in the wind. The cavalry smashed into either side of the charging orcs and force their way through the tide like sharp blade through tender meat.
Moments later - it was finished. The few orcs which survived the charge and kept fighting were cut down. The shield wall opened up, tower shields discarded, and soldiers with short sword charged forward to effectively secure the rout. The orcs scattered in all directions with no sense of order or discipline. They were cut down like animals in droves with hundreds still making it to the safety of the trees to be scattered to the wind. Later, Meraki was moving back along the battlefield to see Dolmen standing stoically and staring down at the ground. The field is littered with carnage, wounded fighters and weapons. Red, gold and gray are the new colors of what was once a serene, valley field, which has now become the stage of a large scale assault.The air which would normally carry the sounds of birds, rivers and wildlife is now heavy and thick with the scent of smoke, a sight of death and destruction. Meraki moves up beside Dolmen and stares at the corpse in front of them. Barel's eyes are still open, blood smeared across his face. There is a look of frozen terror in his eyes and his sword is clutched tightly in his death grip, the hilt held up near his face. A massive crater of a wound is in his opposite shoulder, still dripping into the pool of blood he's laying in.
"I told the boy he kept guarding the wrong side," muttered Dolmen as he shook his head. Meraki was going to say something but stopped himself, realizing there was nothing really he could say. This was a battle and men would die.
"You fought well Dolmen," he finally added.
"And you as well, my tall friend," Dolmen said, bending over and running a hand over Barel's eyes to close them. "The men are calling you the Fist of Heaven. A sensible title for what happened back there." Meraki considered the name and chuckled. He shrugged and nodded, looking out over the battlefield.
"And what are they calling you?" Meraki asked.
"Whatever I bloody tell them to call me," Dolmen said gruffly. He kept a stern look on his face for a moment but let his face succumb to the smile. The two of them stood there in silence as they watched the sun reach its zenith. A cool breeze blew through the air and carried with it the first smells of nature Meraki had smelled since the battle had begun. The valley breathed once more, finally free of the rot that had set into its core.
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