[Kymme]

Originally Posted by Dr Bwaa

@Kymme
Welcome! I don't know if I've ever been what I'd call "brutal" in my critiques, but I certainly don't see any reason to start here! If you'd like me to focus my critique more or less on different aspects of your snippets (spelling/grammar, phrasing/clarity, or broader plot/thematic considerations), let me know!

Spoiler

*snipped for great justice*

Thank you very much for your critique. It was very helpful in revising part 1. Also, here is the REVIZED Version of part one.


The Traitior, Part 1

Spoiler

Thorek Hardstriker brought down his Waraxe heavily into the orc’s shoulder, and heard the satisfying crack of bone and squeal of pain as the orc fell to the churned sand. Just after, he felt a shockwave travel through his shield and up is arm. Another orc had rushed over its comrade and launched a blow at him. Instinctively, he eyes shifted to look up at it as he raised his shield and brought his Waraxe back over his shoulder. The orc growling at him looked indistinguishable from the other fifty or so attacking his platoon. It had a pig-like face hidden under a battered helmet, and menacingly brandished a wooden plank, driven through with rusty nails.

Thorek sprang up, rising to about eye level to the orc before bringing his Waraxe down and hacking into the savage’s unprotected neck. The monster hit the ground dead. Thorek went back into his combat stance, gnashing his teeth and tensing every muscle of his stocky body to launch an attack at the next orc to step in front of him. Sweat beaded on his hard brow, and his short beard was splattered with several drops of blood. The small warband his platoon was fighting had tried to sneak through the southern passes to launch a surprise attack on the village of Screeside, Thorek’s home. Most of them could almost see the plunder and smell the food that their chief had promised them.

What the orc warparty hadn’t counted on was that the barren passes were guarded by a platoon of Dwarven militiamen: a wall of sharp steel and stout hearts. The warband had decided to charge the Dwarven line, and the current melee was the result.

Thorek sprang again, this time beheading an orc warrior. He slid his red stained axe blade through the soft sand, cleaning it. Then brought it back over his shoulder and tensed his body again. The next orc to charge him was carrying a rusting longsword, gripping it in two hands. He sprang up to chop into his new opponent, but as he brought down his Waraxe, the orc casually deflected it away and, while Thorek was off-balance, swung it’s sword down at him. Thorek just managed to get his shield in the right place to soften the blow, but not by much. The sword slammed into his shoulder. The sword hacked down, sparking off Thorek’s armor. The force behind the blow was still there, however, and Thorek gritted his teeth and choked back a sob as he felt his collar bone break.

As the orc raised its sword back over its head, howling triumphantly, Thorek made his move. He ignored the searing pain in his shoulder and launched and uppercut at the orc’s unarmored armpit. He heard the satisfying sound of flesh tearing and stepped back as the orc crumpled to the ground.

Then, Thorek heard a new sound over the raucous din of battle. An earsplitting roar echoed from the back of the orc ranks. The warriors facing him parted, and a grotesque being stomped through their ranks. An Ogre, Thorek thought. Figures.

The Ogre dwarfed the orcs around it, whom in turn dwarfed the Dwarves around them. It was a pale green color, with a heavily muscled frame. The Ogre wore nothing, save a loin cloth and two spiked shoulder plates held onto its torso by two straps. A massive club, covered in barbed hooks and jagged spikes, was clenched in the brute’s hands. Ogres are savage creatures, living in small tribes in the flatlands. Occasionally, an orc tribe would capture an ogre and use it as a beast of war.

Then, another roar ripped out of the beast’s throat. With one swing of its mighty warclub, it cleaved a semi-circle out of the Dwarven line, sending the poor souls, screaming, into the air. Thorek stood, appalled. Then, with hatred for the Ogre burning in his eyes, he charged.

The Ogre spotted him, and swung his club in a downward arc, intersecting Thorek’s path. Thorek sprung to the side, barely dodging the brutal attack. Showered with sand, Thorek spun around the Ogre’s pillar like legs. The Ogre began to turn around, roaring in frustration.

Thorek had just managed to get in the right spot, the Ogre lifted its foot up, and stomped downward. Thorek leapt back, tossing his shield under the Ogre’s foot. The Ogre stomped down, crushing the shield, and also sending ragged splinters deep into its heel. The Ogre roared in pain, and Thorek made his move. Holding his Waraxe in both hands, he planted it in the back of the Ogre’s knee.

The brute let out a scream of pain and fell to his knees.

Thorek, with a smirk, proceeded to remove his Waraxe, and then promptly lodged it in the Ogres head. He smiled as he looked upon his fallen foe. Then, he felt a burning pain in his chest. Thorek stared, confused, at the blade that had seemingly sprouted from right where his heart should be. Then, the world went dark.