The doors to the main hall were armored; almost three feet of solid oak banded with thick steel to reinforce them against attack. It took two men per door to open them safely – yet it he had but wave his hands and the doors would open before him. It was a gesture of significance, that these massive constructs would give way before his will. That he was a man that could command these very doors to bow before him. The courtiers would speak about it endlessly, but today they remained silent.

The orcs had always been a thorn in the side of the province of Whelmhind; their tactical raids had carried off both women and cattle and burnt down villages and farmsteads all along the northern border. His first act upon assuming the throne wenty years ago had been to beef up border patrols and construct watch towers to provide warning of these raids. He had assumed success at first; the raids had stopped completely and the villagers and farmers were glad. 

But it all changed five years ago; when the orcs returned. This time their raiding had method to what was normally madness and soon full patrols as well as farmsteads were captured or put to the knife. He had alerted the townships and began assembling his armies but it was too late; a full blown invasion had brushed aside the watch towers with ease and had plunged into a vulnerable countryside. Columns of smoke multiplied in the distance and refugees fleeing brought news of death and pillaging. 

Dispatching what forces he had, the Earl had hoped to drive the monstrosities back north. Yet when the army returned three days later, it was broken and fleeing a far greater foe. Soon even the city itself was surrounded. 

The defense of the city was a token one; the majority of the seasoned warriors had died either in the earlier skirmishing near the border or the recent rout. The gates were torn down an after sunset and as the sun rose it unveiled a city painted red with blood and fire.

Now as guttural shouts accompanied by scrapping thumps drifted into the great hall, the Earl waited with the last of his kin and retainers as those mighty doors stood as the final defense between him and certain death. But as the thumps were replaced by massive booms, he knew these would fail him as all others before them and with a final groaning crash the doors fell.

What happened next was astound even him. Before the doors had even come to rest the marauders were charging through the threshold; singing steel, cries of fear and anguish competed as the orcs hacked hewed or chopped their way through the remnant of his personal guard. He had not even drawn his sword when it was over. Courtiers cried silently or pleaded for mercy under the iron clad feet of the orcish warriors who towered over them. Barbaric creatures, they radiated violence like heat from an open forge. Primal, like the very fire that followed in their wake, consuming everything for the sake of the act. 
So when what seemed like the smallest of them strode confidently through the smashed entrance the Earl dismissed him as an errand boy or some sort of messenger until he was right on top of him. Seizing the Earl’s beard, he emptied him from the throne and unceremoniously dumped him at the feet of the largest orc who stood at the foot of the dais. Landing with a crash, he felt the circlet of his office leave his head and go rolling off. As he rose to his knees a rough boot planted between his shoulders and pushed him forward with a bark of their language. 

[More to be added later]