Iron Forged

Chapter 2 - First contact

One Week Later

William was dreaming he knew that, he had the same dream every night. The battle of Keepers Rock lay all around him, the rock itself towering over the corpses like a weeping mother, its shear sides hunched over as if in prayer. With a sigh he began searching through the dismembered corpses for the body he knew was not there, the body was never there. He sensed a presence behind him and paused while hunched over a body indistinguishable from all the others on the silent battleground. Turning William saw a wraith its features hidden under its ethereal hood,

"Hello again William." The figure spoke with a voice like crushing bones, William just stood there perplexed this was new, in all the times he'd dreamed the same dream no wraiths had appeared. He felt a chill run down his spine and shivered, despite the notion of temperature in this world being laughable. Then the creature pulled off its hood. Williams saw the face; it was so familiar he swore he'd seen it before, like an old friend returning after many years. William ran to embrace the wraith, but when he saw what the creature had in its hand, he paused, and then he screamed!

William woke, sweat pooled around him, his lank hair dripped with it. Running into his eyes and mouth like a waterfall, he felt like crying but pulled himself together. "Why" he whispered beneath his breath, he reached for the towel he kept by his bed for just this reason, intending to wipe his face before he drowned in his own sweat, but was interrupted by the cultured voice of his superior.

"Same dream again William." William looked up, it was Alfonso, resplendent in his battle robe supplemented by a breastplate of the finest steel, of dwarf make if William was not mistaken. Looking down the old soldier noted the twin pistols holstered on each of Alphonso's hips.

"How..." he began, the question had dual interpretations, how had Alphonso known about the dream and how had he entered his tent without waking him. The perhaps worried William the most but before he could continue he was interrupted once more by the boy's cultured tone

"Not now William, now we move." Then Alfonso was gone, leaving a confused William to wake and dress by himself.

Elsewhere on a dusty trail through a dense forest, a convoy of badly needed reinforcements consisting of the 2nd and 3rd companies of the 406th "Dancing Daemons" marches towards the front line, fresh out of basic training.

Trooper Olle Peterson re-joined the convoy of carts bound for the frontline, slipping into the ranks of his comrades, all itching in their new red coats. All cradling the unfamiliar shape of muskets "Hurry up maggots!" Bellowed Gerard the regiment's only summoner, the burly noble was riding a cart up ahead, trimming his neat goatee nonchalantly next to his cat-like beast.

"Alright for him in his cosy cart" mumbled Theodore as Olle slipped into ranks beside him. The lanky boy receiving a slap from Sergeant Houston in reply

"I'll have no dissent within the ranks young Theo." The grizzled sergeant reprimanded sternly before he could continue a cry echoed through the columns of marching men.

"Sir!" cried one of the outriders, the boy was riding hell for leather along the column, he was riding one of the regiments few horses and its flanks were drenched in sweat and foam. Before he could reach Gerard however, the nature of his report became evident as a demented roar resounded from the forest appearing to come from all around the marching columns of frightened soldiers.

"Shit!" Mumbled Theodore, gazing at the three metre tall green skinned Orc barring the way of the convoy. Its mouth forming a smile of pure pleasure, as it's beady eyes gazed at the convoy of terrified soldiers. It raised its head and roared its joyful hatred to the sky, being answered in kind by roars all through the surrounding forest. Suddenly orders were being shouted, flags were unfurled and ranks formed. Olle began fumbling with his shot bag and powder horn, trying to remember the instructions of the angry little dwarf that had taught them. Olle had ignored the diminutive figure throughout training, after all he was only a dwarf, they'd been beaten by the humans over and over again so what could he possibly learn. He cursed himself silently for a fool, as he rammed the powder down the barrel and fixed his long bayonet; he raised the weapon to his shoulder and joined the northern flank of the rapidly forming square around Gerard's wagon, the man himself calmly continuing his chore. For some reason this calmed Olle immensely.