As the party battles Grimgore The Flayer in the torture chamber, a band of orcs fight for their lives as they try and battle their way out of the main cell block. There is one orc that the rest seem to look to; fighting off other prisoners who had been promised freedom for joining the Manis army. The impact of his fists meeting their faces make dull cracking noises as he punches a path through them, clobbering any that stand in his way.
An older Orc, following closely behind him shouts out.
“Stryke! That damned Troll is getting closer; we don’t have the means to take that thing down…”
Styke looks back, over his shoulder. He sees the Troll known as Ripper living up to his name as he rends through anyone standing in his path. Fortunately there are a lot of others he needs to claw his way through before he reaches the orcs near the front.
“Alfray. Keep pushing!”
The elderly orc does as he is commanded, holding his own as he fights onward as they reach two other orcs near the doorway, fighting to keep it clear. The one Orc is much larger than the rest, using a large piece of broken wood that he had make-shifted into a club; smashing anyone brave enough to come up and challenge him. Fighting at his side is a female orc, fighting just as ferociously but with more swiftness and precision. Styke steps up to them, sounding relieved.
Haskeer sneers as he cracks a charging prisoner’s head open.
“’bout damn time you got up here, I thought I’d have to come to you and carry grandpa out myself.”
Alfray shakes his head, his age and patience keeping him from lunging at the larger, younger orc. Styke stands between them regardless, not wanting to take any chances.
“That’s enough of your bullshit lieutenant; we need to get the hell out of here.”
Coilla steps towards Stryke, gesturing at the stairway.
“Captain. It looks like the only way out is up those stairs, a group went into the Torture chamber; but they locked the doors behind them.”
Haskeer spits on the ground.
The rest of the war-band reaches the doorway; they stop at Stryke – saluting him. He looks past them, seeing that the gap of prisoners is getting smaller as the Troll approaches. Coilla gestures towards the small pile of bodies at the foot of the stairway; their lifeless bodies riddled with arrows.
“It doesn’t look like we’re just going to be able to walk up those stairs.”
Stryke pauses for a moment, looking on as the gap of prisoners between his war-band and the Troll shrinks as it claws it’s way towards freedom. He looks back into the hallway, his eyes fixed at the mess hall across from the stairway.
“Wolverines! On me!”
The war-band follows Stryke into the hallway and stop at the mess hall, he looks to Haskeer; gesturing at a table.
“Haskeer, we need a shield.”
Haskeer nods with a grin on his face, taking a handful of grunts with him — in just a short few moments Haskeer hoists a table into the air and charges the stairway; arrows pound up against the flat of the table as the orcs charge up the stairs.
“Riot! What? How?”
pounds his fists on his desk, his face red with rage. The guard standing in the doorway shifts nervously.
“Yes sir, a riot; level three is out of control.”
Lesten glares at the guard.
“Then why in the hell aren’t you talking to ”/characters/bugger" class=“wiki-content-link”>Bugger?"
The guard clears his throat and looks to the ground.
“Bugger already went down there sir… He… Didn’t come back out.”
Lesten almost flips his desk over or can’t with his flimsy arms; that guard can’t decide — he begins pacing back and forth, rambling to himself.
“First no breakfast… now this…”
The guard clears his throat.
Lesten snaps back.
The guard straightens up.
“That’s not all… Those orcs that we brought in just a few days ago… They’re fighting their way into the main level.”
Lesten’s eyes widen, he fumbles around at his desk drawers and removes a cylinder, clutching it close to his chest.
“How close are they?”
The guard lets out a nervous sigh.
“I’m not sure how much longer we can hold them… We’re short staffed and with the rest of the prisoner getting out…”
Lesten slams his fist on his desk.
“How much longer!?”
Before the guard can answer, the guards head is flung into the frame of the doorway and he crumbles to the ground unconcious. Lesten stands in awe, seeing Styke standing across from him. Stryke leans down and picks up the guards short sword.
“I believe you have something of mine”
Lesten clutches the cylinder closer to his chest, Stryke takes a few steps forward; Haskeer and Coilla stand behind him.
“I should cut you down for locking us up here, but if you hand over that cylinder; we’ll be on our way.”
Lesten just stares, speechless. Haskeer lets out a chuckle from behind Styke and points over his shoulder.
“He pissed himself!”
Styke flips the desk out of his path and snatches the cylinder from the half-elf’s weak grasp, knocking him over — Stryke turns back to his war-band.
“Wolverines! Move out, let’s get out of this hell hole… We don’t have a lot of time.”
The orcs rush off, leaving Lesten alone in his office. He trembles on the floor for a few moments, waiting, expecting the orcs to come back through the doorway to finish him off as if this were some cruel trick. When he decides that it is safe enough he stands to his feet, brushing at the wet spot on his pants.
“These are silk…”
He looks up as he hears his door making a slow creeking noise and latch shut and hearing a calm, monotone voice.
“What a shame.”
A tear runs down Lesten’s cheek as he sees a grinning Troll looking back at him with his jagged, dagger-like teeth.