The Plains of Durnhald had turned into a brutal battlefield as the Ironfoot dwarves clashed fiercely with Kargath's orc horde. What Kargath did not know, however, was that a more devious and powerful force was at play. The orc shaman, Thrall, who held more cunning than most orcish leaders, had been orchestrating the battle from the shadows, ensuring that his own plans would unfold beyond Kargath's understanding.
Thrall had always seen Kargath as a blunt instrument—strong, brutal, but limited. Thrall's ambition went beyond merely fighting the dwarves; he sought to control the entire war and expand orc influence. Behind Kargath's back, he had prepared a second orc legion, led by the fearsome general Kroghtar, a ruthless commander known for his brutal efficiency in battle. Thrall had kept this legion hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike when both the dwarves and Kargath's forces were weakened.
As the dwarves and orcs battled under the scorching sun, Thrall watched from a distance, his mind calculating the exact moment to release Kroghtar's legion and tip the scales in his favor.
In the heart of the battlefield, General Thrain Ironfist led the Ironfoot dwarves in a ferocious charge. Their steel armor glinted in the sunlight, and their battle axes cleaved through orc after orc. The dwarves, masters of battle formations, slowly began to gain the upper hand, driving the orcs back.
"Forward, Ironfoot! Cut them down!" Thrain's voice thundered as he swung his massive warhammer, Stonebreaker, crushing an orc beneath its weight. The dwarves fought with precision and fury, their shield walls impenetrable, and their axes cutting deeply into orc flesh.
At the center of the orcish forces stood Kargath, his enormous figure towering over the battlefield. Wielding his massive double-bladed axe, Bloodreaver, Kargath cleaved through the dwarven lines, but even his brutal might was starting to falter against the relentless dwarven assault.
Thrain's sharp eyes locked onto Kargath. "We end this today!" he bellowed, leading his warriors directly toward the orc warlord. The dwarves surged forward, breaking through the orc ranks as they moved toward Kargath.
Kargath saw them coming and roared in defiance. Swinging Bloodreaver, he cut down three dwarves in one savage motion. Yet, even for him, the battle was becoming grueling, and the dwarven warriors pressed closer.
Far from the front lines, Thrall's sharp mind worked tirelessly. The orc shaman had studied the battlefield, and it was clear to him that Kargath's forces, despite their strength, were not enough to crush the dwarves. That was why Thrall had made plans of his own—plans that not even Kargath was aware of.
Thrall's eyes glowed as he raised his staff, sending his command through the winds to Kroghtar, the leader of the second legion. The second orc legion, hidden deep in the forests of Cindor, would soon make its move.
"Kroghtar, it's time," Thrall muttered, his voice full of dark intent. His tactical brilliance was unmatched among the orcs, and he knew exactly when to strike.
At the edge of the battlefield, near the River Elrin, Count Varian observed the unfolding battle. He had no interest in choosing a side; his goal was simple: to claim the wealth of the land, including the newly discovered mines. His forces had remained in position, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, hoping both the orcs and dwarves would weaken each other.
"Prepare the men," Varian ordered coldly. "We'll strike once their numbers have dwindled. The spoils of this battle will be ours."
His son, Lord Aric, rode beside him, the weight of Brighthollow's loss still fresh in his mind. Aric said little, his thoughts consumed by the destruction that had followed them since the orc raids began. Despite his wounds, Aric knew his father's ambition would not be swayed.
Before Varian could set his plan in motion, movement caught his eye from across the river. Emerging from the treeline were ranks upon ranks of orcs—Kroghtar's legion, now marching swiftly toward the riverbank.
Varian's face twisted in disbelief. "Another orc legion?" he muttered. The drums of war began to echo through the valley, signaling the beginning of a new assault.
"Form up!" Varian shouted. "Prepare for battle!"
The orcs surged forward, their brutal war cries filling the air as they descended upon Varian's forces. The battle exploded near the river, with the count's men desperately trying to hold the line.
Thomas, along with his comrades Marcus, Elric, and Ava, fought valiantly by the river, defending against the orc onslaught. The militia held their ground as best they could, but the sheer number of orcs was overwhelming.
"Hold the line!" Thomas shouted, his sword clashing with an orc. His heart raced as he struck down another goblin, but the tide was turning against them.
Suddenly, the sharp twang of a bowstring echoed through the chaos. A goblin archer had taken aim from the treeline, and before Thomas could react, an arrow struck him in the side. The impact sent him stumbling backward, blood pouring from the wound.
"Thomas!" Marcus screamed, rushing to his friend's side as he fell to the ground. "No, stay with me!"
Ava, standing nearby, let loose an arrow that found its mark in the goblin's throat. "Damn them!" she cursed, turning her bow toward another target.
Elric knelt by Thomas, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. "Hold on, Thomas! Don't you dare die on us!"
But Thomas's vision blurred, and the world around him began to fade. The sound of the river grew louder, and before anyone could react, the current surged and swept Thomas away, carrying him downstream in the chaos of battle.
"Thomas!" Ava cried, but her voice was drowned out by the roaring river.
Count Varian's forces fought desperately against the oncoming orc legion, but the sheer numbers were too much. Kroghtar led the charge with brutal efficiency, cutting down soldiers left and right.
Lord Aric fought valiantly, but in the midst of the chaos, an orc's axe came down hard on him. He managed to block the blow, but the force of it severed his left arm at the elbow, and Aric fell to the ground, bleeding heavily.
"Retreat!" Varian shouted, his voice full of fury. "Fall back to the stronghold!"
His army began a disorganized retreat, scrambling to escape the second orc legion. The once-proud count found himself retreating from a battle he had thought he could control.
At the Fairheaven Stronghold, Count Varian and his remaining forces returned, battered and broken. Lord Aric, gravely wounded with his left arm lost, was carried into the keep. The count's face was a mask of frustration and anger. His once grand ambition had crumbled, and now, even the stronghold seemed like a fragile refuge against the rising orc threat.
Unbeknownst to Kargath, Thrall's second legion was already in motion. And while the orc warlord believed himself to be the driving force behind the invasion, Thrall had plans of his own. The war was far from over, and Thrall's cunning mind had ensured that no one—human or orc—could predict what would come next.