by Justin Wayne
***
Cleave Rend, Ulgvhen, the young orc named Toric, and four of the hardiest orcs rode up to the base of the hill that preceded the valley that held the campsite, and dismounted. They crouched low and drew their weapons, a myriad of axes, maces and a single spear, as they ascended the rise. When the war party reached the peak, they looked down at the little site and could see the glow of the fire on the opposite side of the tarp that hid the actual camp itself.
The group descended the slope and spread out around the tarp in two groups, Cleave Rend on his own in the center, and as they ran around the sides, he tore through the tarp and straight into the middle of a bedroll. They stabbed into the empty rolls and quickly looked all about the small valley before deciding they were gone. The giant orc threw his axe into one of the small trees that held the tarp aloft and completely split it with a resounding crack.
“Where are they!” he roared and turned on his men, the axe back in his hand. “How did they know we were coming!?” His wild eyes tore into each orc around him, causing them to flinch when he stepped toward them, only to brush them aside and walk toward the little source of heat. “What’s this?”
He stared down at a small pouch that sat beside the fire, so close it was cinged and picked it up. As he did, the contents, a black dust, poured out through a small hole cut in the bottom corner facing the fire. It hit the flames, and with a sizzling noise like melting fat off a steak, the fire travelled up the dust and into the pouch that Cleave Rend held where it exploded into a massive fireball that engulfed the entire campsite.