From: Mike and Micky Gunn Subject: [PORC] A fray! Uktul sniffed the air with flared, sensitive nostrils and squinted his pig-like eyes. The intruders were here, just as that snooty pink-skin Orim had said. The man had interrupted Uktul's noon meal and looked at the orc - gnawing on a huge, meaty bone - with undisguised distaste as he gave orders. "Take two dozen of your finest and make sure you take a shaman as well. I don't imagine they'll put up much of a fight but one can never be too certain, hmmmm?" "Umph! Two duzzen, yes boss!" replied Uktul, wiping grease from his mouth with the back of a massive green hand. Because he wore his armour night and day - in the last few months it had developed a rather "savoury" aroma - there was no need to waste time gearing up, so he grabbed his Orcish broadsword - a family "air lume" - and was almost out the door before the man's irritating voice caught him. "Oh, one last thing." Uktul turned to face Orim, obviously impatient to be on his way. "I want them alive. *Alive*, you hear? Alive is the opposite of dead, which is the state in which you usually bring me 'captives'. I shall be mightily displeased if you fail me this time. Perhaps I'll have the archmage himself mete out your punishment, hmmmm?" That was all the orc needed to hear. The 'big bad majik man' gave him the willies. "Me not fail you boss!" Snapping a hurried salute he trotted to the nearby barracks, wondering along the way if 'not quite dead' could be classed as 'alive'. He hoped so. Thirty minutes later not more than ten orcs - *including* Snarfl the senior shaman - marched towards the entrance hallway to ambush the intruders. Ultimately, Uktul's inability to count was to prove his undoing. Being orcs, they argued noisily all the way - over who was the best fighter, who could belch the loudest, who could pull the wings off an imp without killing it - usual Orcish banter. Although entertaining, it slowed them down considerably and they'd barely reached their designated ambush position in the tapestried hallway before faint sounds - booted footsteps! - could be heard. Uktul could smell the intruders before he could see them (the Orcish olfactory system is highly developed, which is surprising given that they smell so bad themselves). Uktul squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of the foolhardy interlopers. Ah, there they were. With the sun's glare behind them they were silhouetted against the entrance, plain as day. 'Pity we no think ta bring missile weppuns wiv us,' he thought ruefully. 'Still, no use cryin' ovuh spilt bludd.' Uktul squinted harder, trying to determine their numbers and races. One, maybe two males...and the others were elven girlies (girlies were more fun than men - they squealed more when you tortured them)! They numbered only...(he removed a gauntlet and painstakingly attempted to count them)......one hand. Supremely confident and none too quietly, Uktul signaled his warriors to stay put and wait for the trap to be sprung. From the looks of things however, the element of surprise had been lost because without warning the well-armoured man (an Elf...ugh!) flung his cloak back and hurled a huge ball of fire in the direction of the waiting orcs. Before they could react the sphere of flaming death hit a nearby pillar, exploding in their midst and sending white-hot bolts in all directions. The screams were terrible. Though badly wounded, Uktul retained enough presence of mind to assess the situation, and he ordered Snarfl to use his magic. Snarfl did not reply and when the burly Orc turned to reprimand him he discovered the shaman had been in the unenviable position of 'ground zero' when the fireball exploded...he was now a greasy black smear on the pillar. Besides himself there were only three others left standing. All the others had either burned to a crisp or routed. "Why Orim tell me to bring only two duzzen?" wailed Uktul despairingly, "this job need 'least twenty four!" There was no time for self pity now. The intruders advanced, weapons drawn.......