STAGHALL, UVRADIA. UVRADIA
In the heart of the dense forest, the village of STAGHALL lay surrounded by towering oaks and whispering pines and corn fields. It was a peaceful place, where the days were filled with the simple joys of rural life. The village of STAGHALL, the home to many Famers and hunters. With winter around the corner, farmers had began to harvest their crops.
It was such a busy day, the horses moving here and there. The famers rubbing off the sweats from their foreheads 'as a sign of a busy day.'
'STAGHALL' was truly the heart of exotic crops and trade.
Kids played around while the grown ups did their work.
"Come on. Dane!" The kid scoffed while waiting for his older brother. "Come on, Father is about to leave us!"
The kid grew tired of waiting as he ran off to catch up with his father.
"Am... am coming, wait up." The older brother said coming out of the cottage with a smile on his face. The older brother followed them behind heading for the maize fields.
***
SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE FIELDS.
"...Father?" The boy called out his father with a thought in mind.
"Yes... son?" The father dropped his tools facing his son while the older boy continued to harvest.
Placing a hand on the little boy's shoulder and cleaning off the dirt stain on his cheeks.
"Uhm, when will I be ready to harvest? Father." The little boy asked with a curious look in his eyes.
The father chuckled a bit and scoffed. "...when your old enough son." The father replied roughing up his son's hair.
Suddenly, the ground began to tremble, the little pieces of earth began to quiver like dices.
"...Okay Fath-"
"Shh." The Little Boy was cut off from the hushing sound coming from his father.
Something or someone was coming and headed towards them, the father reached for an axe. While, shielding his little boy from what ever was coming, the older brother reached out for the machete.
"BOO!" The figured revealed his/her to be...
"Orsella?..." A woman wearing armor
"Aunty, Orsella." The little boy dashed off to give her a big hug.
Orsella chuckled a bit letting go the boy while the older son and father stared with questions in mind. "Orsella? What're you doing here?. I thought you were off to the capital state?..."
Orsella slowly replied with a sigh, while dropping the boy. "...Well, you could say something came up-"
Orsella is one of the town's soldier sent here to protect the village two years ago, she was supposed to leave STAGHALL few days back, her and her troops were recalled back to the capital state after two successful years of protecting the village from harm.
Some, bandits did try to take over the village couple of times but failed indeed
All of a sudden, screams emerged from the fields, dark screams and then silence as all that was heard was the Swiss of a blade and the sound of bodies dropping.
Orsella reached for her sword hilt as so did the farmer reach for a machete, and pulling his sons behind him handing his older son a machete too.
Orsella, armor glinting in the setting sun, knelt among the tall stalks of corn, her gaze locked with that of her farmer friend and his sons. They spoke in hushed tones, the weight of the impending siege a silent force between them. She offered words of comfort, a promise to shield their land from the darkness that loomed.
Suddenly, a chilling sound sliced through the evening air—the unmistakable ring of clashing blades, a harbinger of the violence that crept ever closer. Orsella's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning the horizon for signs of the enemy.
"Stay down," she whispered fiercely to her friend and the boys, her voice barely above the rustle of the corn. "Do not move until they pass."
They waited, hearts pounding, as the sounds of battle grew distant, the marauders moving on in their relentless march. Only when the silence returned did Orsella rise, signaling it was safe.
With cautious steps, they approached the site of the skirmish, bracing themselves for the sight that awaited. The earth was scarred and trampled, and the bodies of fallen soldiers lay testament to the orcs' ruthless advance.
'Yes! Orcs were attacking the village.'
Orsella's jaw set with determination, her resolve hardened by the sacrifice of her comrades. "We will avenge them," she vowed, her words a solemn oath to the living and the dead. "We will stand strong."
The farmer nodded, his sons by his side, a united front in the face of adversity. They would fight, they would endure, and they would remember this moment—the calm before the storm, the courage before the clash.
***
Orsella was fierce, a true leader, her sword flashing as she cut through the orc invaders. She rallied her soldiers, each strike a message of defiance against the overwhelming odds. Amidst the chaos, she was a beacon of hope, her presence urging the villagers to find their courage.
As the battle raged, Orsella found herself not only fighting but also guiding the villagers to safety. Her voice rose above the clamor, directing the farmers and their families through hidden paths and secret passages known only to the locals.
Her heart ached with every villager she ushered away from danger, knowing she was sending them into an uncertain future. Yet, there was strength in her eyes—a promise that she would hold the line, that their homes and lives were worth every drop of sweat and blood.
The village might have been a battleground, but thanks to Orsella and her unwavering spirit, it was also a place of survival and resilience. She was more than a soldier; she was a guardian, a protector of all that was good and worth fighting for.
***
The village was shrouded in chaos as the orcs charged forward, their battle cries echoing through the air. Orsella's men, determined to protect their home, formed a defensive line, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight.
As the clash began, swords clashed against axes, arrows whizzed through the air, and spells crackled with energy. The orcs, towering and fierce, used their brute strength to overpower their opponents, while the humans relied on their agility and tactics.
Amidst the chaos, Orsella emerged, her sword slashing through the orc ranks. With each swing, she defended her fellow villagers, her eyes filled with determination.
But the orcs fought back relentlessly, their sheer numbers and ferocity posing a formidable challenge. Yet, the humans refused to yield, their spirits unyielding in the face of adversity.
As the battle raged on, both sides suffered losses, but neither showed signs of backing down. The clash of steel, the cries of pain, and the thunderous footsteps reverberated throughout the battlefield.
The air began to thicken with the scent of battle flames as more orcs descended upon the village like a tidal wave of destruction. The humans, though valiant in their efforts, were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer might of the orcish horde.
The ground shook with every step the orcs took, their war hammers and axes leaving a trail of ruin in their wake. Orsella men fought with courage, their swords flashing in a desperate dance of defense, but one by one, they were cut down.
In the midst of the carnage, an orc chieftain towered above the rest, his armor stained with the blood of fallen enemies. He roared in triumph, rallying his warriors as they smashed through the human defenses.
The villagers' who were unable to escape the siege pleaded for mercy were lost in the cacophony of battle, their barricades nothing but kindling before the orcs' relentless onslaught. Orsella's strategy and skill were no match for the raw, untamed power of the orcs.
As the sun set, the village was consumed by fire and shadow, the orcs standing victorious amidst the ruins. Their victory cries echoed through the night, a haunting reminder of the might of the orcish forces.
The humans' last stand was but a footnote in the orcs' march of conquest, a testament to the brutal efficiency of their war machine. The battle was over, and the orcs had claimed their prize.
***
As the dust settled on the ravaged village, the orc chieftain, towering and grim, surveyed the destruction his warriors had wrought. Among the scattered survivors, his cold gaze fell upon a single human, a young scout trembling beneath the weight of imminent death.
With a gesture of his massive hand, the chieftain silenced the bloodthirsty cries of his horde. He approached the scout, his footsteps heavy with the promise of doom. The scout looked up, expecting the final blow, but instead, the chieftain leaned in close, his voice a guttural whisper that chilled the air.
"Run," he growled, his breath reeking of battle and iron. "Run to your king. Tell him of the storm that comes for his kingdom. Let him know the might of our forces and the futility of resistance."
The scout, fueled by a mix of fear and a desperate hope, scrambled to his feet and fled into the night, the chieftain's words a curse echoing in his mind. The orcs watched in silence, the human's frantic escape a symbol of the terror they would sow in the heart of their enemies.
The chieftain turned back to his warriors, a savage grin splitting his face. "Let them tremble," he bellowed. "Let them prepare. Our victory is assured."
The scout's message would spark whispers of dread throughout the human kingdom, a warning of the siege that would soon test the mettle of their realm. The game of war was on, and the orcs had made their opening move.