The longboats had been left when their keels had began running aground in the shallow tributaries. A vanguard of hunters, led by Karg Karrok waded ashore and set about picking their way through the local flora. Wreckham’s trusted lieutenant “Smasha” Thaknad, lumbered through the overgrown crops and brambles on his trusted war turtle Doomfoot. Further off to the left the hissing of Kuzlo’s mount leant an uneasy feeling of apprehension to the raid. As the cover thinned the pounding of drums and stench of orcs filled the air. The world was lost in the swirl of battle.

The dust cleared and the last of the orc corpses disappeared down Doomfoot’s throat, braying horns and the cracking whips of Zygrad’s slavers filled the air. On the back foot the Ogres were taken by surprise by the looping mortal shells and thundering halfbreed hooves.

Rallying from the initial impact the ogre’s hulking frames recoiled and they threw themselves back into the fray. Descending on the hordes of black-clad dwarves they ripped them asunder, allowing only their leader to escape with his life and some of his dignity.