The Second Battle of Ormshole

Marshal Kurdt von Uffen did not fear danger. The long-ears had had a price on his head, and his head was still attached, despite many attempts from many men, and worse, to disconnect it from his head.

Father Ulric had tried to block the passes to the ogre armies, but somehow this one had snuck through. That's what you got when you left fighting to men of the cloth. They fethed it up. Better leave it to professional fighters. Men whose fathers were warriors, and whose daughters could tear the head off an orc.

There was going to be no finesse today. Just a straight up the guts charge with his best knights, and see which way the skulls fell.

With that thought he slammed down his visor and the war-horn sang!

Charge!


The few men on the walls of Castle Ormshole watched as Kurdt von Uffen's men cut down the last of the maneaters. Their horses stamped the dead bodies into the ground and then swung round to the help the centre, which was being slowly ground down by the foe.

Suddenly the centre broke and was trampled down by the monstrous cavalry. There were shrieks and cries of fear and alarm! Would they all end up as ogre-snacks!

The knights looked so magnificent as they wheeled round and drove another unit of ogres and knoblars from the field. Now the two generals faced each other.

'Flee!' men shouted. 'Save yourself lord Kurdt! Save our king!'

If Kurdt heard he did not show it. He remained tall and resolute in his saddle. The remaining knights, bloodied, battered, exhausted, lowered their lances for one final charge. The ogres did not flee, but braced their clubs and prepared for the fight.

Kurdt picked out the biggest and drew his sword. Kurdt von Uffen did not fear danger. His head was still attached, despite many attempts to remove it from his head.



The Victory Feast