As always, I was honored to offer a story prompt to @bananafish’s finish the story contest. Below is the full thing, finished as I would. Now that the 500 word limit is removed, I’ve also embellished the beginning. I simply wanted to write an epic battle scene with traditional fantasy elements.

Also, fuck elves. Orcs 100%

Frankly, I found the endings of other writers better than mine own.

Congrats to the winners.

The Battle of Bloodneck Valley

by @dirge

Shog, called the Bonecrusher by his people, knew they’d lost when human horns roared across the battlefield. The Imperiate had come after all, to aid their elven allies of the Alish’tae Republic. Shog’s people, orcs of the Galak Tribe, so named after the mountain upon which they’d once lived, fought hard and well. But they fought alone.

Orcs no allies. Not even their Gods, the Old Ones, cared anymore. It had been generations since the shamans adorned the rocks and skies with blood in the rituals of old. Generations since the the dream runners travelled into the space between worlds to kneel at the feet of the Old Ones. Yog-Sothoth, they called it. The stories remained, passed down to the younglings in their rearing. But no one believed them. Not anymore.

As the morning sun crept above the clouds, illuminating the blood soaked fields, the Imperiate horsemen charged out from the forest. Muk’nola, matriarch of the Galaks, sounded her war horn, signalling the retreat. But it would be too late, Shog knew. Those horsemen would slaughter them as they fled. Their children, next.

An elf, empowered by the sense of looming victory, stormed forward from their line, straight towards Shog. He parried the elf’s longsword then heaved his mighty hammer, Breaker of Worlds, in a perfect arc. It smashed upon the elf’s helmeted skull, and he proved his namesake for the countless time. The elf’s head exploded in bone and carnage.

“Back!” he heard someone roar. “Fall back!”

In disarray, those around him fled in retreat towards Bloodneck Valley, where they’d encamped. Their position fell, their line was broken. The day was done. Shog, in vain, screamed to maintain the line. But his words remained heedless. He knew the day was lost. His people fled. He had no choice but to follow.

He reached the camp, already nearly moving again, fleeing up the valley to the highlands, through the Neck, the narrow and rocky treacherous path and namesake of the valley. Shog, exhausted, reached Zee-zee, his daughter, and Gheelah, his love. Gheelah had already packed their yurt and few remaining possessions. “Flee!” he shouted to her.

“And you?” Gheelah asked.

“I stay to hold them back.”

In typical orcish fashion, their utter devotion, love and mutual respect expressed itself only in their shared gaze, never in public, spoken word. He gripped her hand. He told Zee-zee to be strong. Gheelah nodded. Then the doy galloped away with the rest of the fleeing, broken host.

Muk-nola, matriarch, rallied the remaining Galak warriors. They reformed to a single line. Bloodneck Valley was narrow. Rocky. Layered with crimson colored clay. The land elevated as it led to the Highlands, their only advantage.

Maybe at the height of the tribe’s strength, before the humans had come with their purges and stolen their land, before the elves had arrived to ‘cleanse the world of evil’, maybe they would have been strong enough. But Shog saw they had a few hundred left. A few hundred to hold a line against an entire battalion of Imperiate horsemen and Alish’tae swordsmen, the latter no doubt already being reinforced.

The ‘Fair Folk’ would aim to eradicate the Galak now, as they fled up the neck.

Shog marched up to Muk-nola. She hailed him. “Yog-Sothoth burns in us,” she said.

“Yog-Sothoth hasn’t given a shit about us since Galak Mountain ceased its fire,” Shog replied.

Imperiate horns loomed. The sun flared, blinding Shog for a moment. Another disadvantage. The ground rumbled with the cavalry charge.

“Either way. I’ll crush his soul in hell. Right after I’m done with these Fair Folk.”

Their line reformed across the neck. Spears, hammers, swords. Weapons of bravery. But Shog knew they wouldn’t hold against a full charge of the Imperiate cavalary.

Muk’nola roared away, giving a speech. She spoke of Mount Galak, or the blood spilled between a wolf god and a golem, from which their tribe emerged. Shog struggled to listen against the thunder of the cavalry charge. He gazed up at the Sun, now near blinding as it’s light arced above the elven forests.

The horsemen charged up towards the neck. Their horns bellowing. Muk’nola called out the names of her mothers. Each orcs followed in turn, calling out their ancestors, announcing to them their coming return to the spirit realm.

Shog thought of Zee-zee. He thought of the Elves. Would they enslave her? Would the humans keep them as thrall? Enraged, Shog stepped forward from the line.

“Back!” Muk’nola roared. “Shog. Hold the line!”

“Run!” he shouted. Calm, he walked towards the entrance of the neck, right below the looming, rocky hills. Yog-Sothoth. If you truly rest in beneath the black stars of Carcosa. Hear me now.

Swinging a wide arc, Shog smashed the head of his hammer, Breaker of Worlds, against the wall of the Neck. He swung once again. He managed a third swing before the cavalrymen ran him down.

The horsemen didn’t make it far, crushed as they were under the avalanche of rocks.

Shog awake beneath black stars. He heard voices of human women. “Mask? Is that a mask?” one asked. Shog glanced to see the women dressed in gowns of yellow. He shrugged them aside. “Tis no mask at all!” another one announced.

“Where is he? Yog-Sothoth?” Shog bellowed. “I’ve got words for the old one.” Shog spat on the stone floor.