Rise of the Horde

The once-magnificent Sand Palace now lay in ruins, a mere shadow of its former self. The majestic structure, which had once stood proudly with its neatly paved roads and grand gardens, now bore the scars of destruction.

The roads leading to the palace doors were cracked and uneven, with dirt and blood filling its crevices, a stark contrast to their previous sleek and immaculate state. The palace itself was far from its former glory.

The majestic doors, once a symbol of its grandeur, now hung crookedly on their hinges, their ornate carvings chipped and faded. The walls that surrounded the palace were battered and broken, with gaping holes exposing the interior to the elements.

What remained of the finely crafted windows offered no respite from the harsh winds that now blew through the once-protected chambers. The sand, from which the palace derived its name, had invaded every crevice, covering the floors and filling the air with a fine dust that coated everything in a layer of grey.

Khao'khen and the horde were now seeing the extent of the destruction brought forth by the demonic swarm. In just a single night, the destruction caused by the demons was beyond what they have expected.

The chieftain turned his gaze towards the four magic towers in the corners of the inner walls, "5th to 8th warbands" he called with his voice loud and filled with authority, "Scout and secure the towers," he commanded.

The warbands called out by the chieftain broke off from the formation, their movements swift and precise as they pulled out. One warband for one tower.

"3rd and 4th warbands! Enter the palace, and take down anything or anyone that doesn't belong in this world," he continued to give out more orders.

Like a trail of ants, the 3rd and 4th warbands broke out into four rows as they entered the now ruined palace. They moved with swiftness, but also with caution. Their shields and swords at the ready, to respond quickly to whatever danger that might be still lurking within.

"What about us, chieftain?" Arka'garr questioned. He and the rest of the Rakshas still wanted to participate in the possible upcoming fights within the palace. Your adventure continues at m v|l-e'm,p| y- r

"You and the others will stay outside and guard the entrance. Your equipment are not suited for fighting inside buildings," Khao'khen's gaze was focused on the ridiculously long spears that the Rakshas were wielding.

Following their chieftain's gaze, Arka'garr stared at the length of his weapon which was covered in flesh and blood of those who had fallen prey to its might.

"We can leave our weapons outside and use our blades if needed be." The leader of the Rakshas suggested to which Khao'khen responded with a pained look on his face. He was having a headache on how to deal with them.

"Just stand guard for now, and be prepared to deal with whatever enemy comes out of those doors," Khao'khen then turned his gaze towards Adhalia, "You should be familiar with the lay-out of this place. Is there any other hidden passages that we should be aware?" he questioned.

Adhalia shook her head in response, "Aside from the front entrance and the one at the back which leads to the garden, there are no more other passages to get in and out of the palace."

"Send out what is available from your forces to guard the entrance at the back. The 3rd and 4th warbands will sweep the place of any hostile forces that might be still inside, and we can't have them running out in the open to cause more destruction."

Khao'khen knew that most of Drakhars were now busy dealing with the aftermath of the previous battle. The bulk of Adhalia's forces had their hands full with the search and rescue of their fellow Ereians who might have been trapped in the ruins of the battle.

"I'll send Zaraki's group along with the more experienced soldiers, she replied then went on to make her arrangements.

Within the palace, the 3rd and 4th warbands discovered some of the demonic spawn still loitering around in the halls and rooms of the palace. Some were curled up asleep, while others were busy gnawing and relishing in delight as they consumed the corpses of their victims.

The orcs without mercy slaughtered the scattered spawns. The once-grand chambers now served as a grim testament to the fury of the attack. Corpses, some with missing limbs and others reduced to skeletal remains with mere traces of flesh, lay strewn across the palace floors.

The warbands stepped cautiously, their boots crunching on the layer of sand that had invaded the palace, now mixed with the dust of death and destruction. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, filling the nostrils of the warbands as they navigated the once-majestic halls.

The finely crafted tapestries that had once adorned the walls now hung in tatters, and their vibrant colors splashed by bits of flesh and hardened blood. The elegant furniture that had graced the palace was now little more than kindling, shattered and scorched by the fury of the swarm.

In a corner, partially hidden by a toppled column, lay the corpse of a noble or a high ranking official, the fine silks now little more than rags. The body was little more than bones, picked clean by scavengers, with expensive jewelries which was an indication of their former status.

Nearby, a once-proud warrior lay slumped, and his armor pierced and battered, a silent testament to the futility of resistance against the demonic horde.

Outside, upon hearing the orders of their master, Zaraki and his group quickly departed to secure the other entrance towards the palace. They circled around the massive palace, following the once clean roads around the palace which was now filled with scattered limbs, corpses, and hardened blood.

The gardens that had once flourished with vibrant flowers and lush greenery were now a desolate wasteland. The demonic swarm had left no stone unturned in its path of destruction. Uprooted trees lay strewn across the landscape, their once-strong branches now reduced to twisted and broken limbs.

The carefully curated flower beds were nothing but patches of dry earth, the vibrant colors of the flowers long since faded and withered away. The gentle fountain that had once provided a soothing backdrop to the garden now stood silent and still, its waters long since dried up, leaving behind only a sad reminder of the beauty that had once been.

Within the ravaged Sand Palace, the 3rd and 4th warbands advanced with caution, their footsteps echoing eerily in the once-grand halls. As they ventured deeper, the warbands split up, each taking a side of the palace to cover more ground.

The 3rd warband, tasked with securing the eastern side, soon stumbled upon a mysterious chamber. The thick doors, reinforced with magical runes, stood as a formidable barrier. Burnt corpses of demonic spawns lay piled before it, a testament to the chamber's significance.

With a sense of trepidation, the warband approached, their shields raised and swords drawn. As they entered, they discovered a group of old men huddled together, their eyes wide with fear but determined nonetheless.

The warband, taken aback by this unexpected find, quickly surrounded the chamber's occupants, their weapons at the ready. The air was thick with anticipation as the two groups faced each other, each unsure of the other's intentions.

The group of old men quickly raised their hands indicating that they mean no harm. They were people, whose strength lies within their brains and not their muscles. Clashing with the obviously more powerful orcs would mean certain death for them.

"We surrender." One of them announce with a trembling voice.

"Do you think they will spare us?" the one at the furthest back questioned towards the others. The notoriousness of the orcs in battles, they were well aware of it, but what else can they do but to surrender, and hope that the orcs don't slaughter them right there and then.

The orcs pointed their blades at them, alert and ready to strike at the smallest hint of danger. It didn't take long for the orcs to lose interest in the group of old men, after seeing that they were just a group of weaklings.

A few orcs at the front sheathed their blades and shoved the old men out of the chamber.

"Take them to the chieftain," the warband master ordered four of his warriors. The four chosen warriors' faces were filled with disappointment after hearing the order given. Escorting the group of weaklings would mean traversing the path that they have taken, which was obviously already safe. And it would mean that there would be no more fighting for them.

The warband master's face darkened after seeing the reaction of the four warriors. "Move it!" he grumbled and shoved one of them with a kick.

After gaining some distance from their warband, the four warriors shot an angry glare at the group of old men filled with hate. They were all thinking inside their heads that if not for this weaklings, they would still be with their warband, searching for more enemies to fight.