It didn't start long after the glittering hosts arrived. It was the slightest tremor, at first. A neigh-imperceptible buzzing in the air, a breeze crossing the brief, grassy plane that separated the Ariel's hill from the looming forest edge. From a certain point of view, the entrance to the Lamswell almost looked like a triumphantly massive, elongated green head. Composed of an endless, ascending carpet of green leaves, the canopy could be visualised as the upper portion of the skull. Into it plunged a hundred or more cavernous gaps in the canopy where the disparity in the height of the outlying trees were made evident - a hundred black, shadowy eyes, all fixed on Ariel's host. The canopy sloped radically higher the deeper it went, almost like a vast hill of its own that grew into a mountain towering almost twice the height of the hill on which Ariel's force arrayed, due to the supernatural height of the deep-forest trees. The open mouth of the head might be envisioned where the lower end of the tree trunks met the ground - a toothy maw of wood and bark which seemed to snarl at the Fahrendeilian host as it drew up in battle order, daring them to enter its terrible gullet.<br/><br/>The almost nonexistent tremor grew, after a few minutes, into a rumbling whisper.<i>"Or-ruk-zum, o-ruk-zum..." </i>Only the keenest of hearing, only the most alert would pick up on it as it first manifested. Soon enough, though, nobody present could fail to hear it. A voice, strong, unified,  powerful, which grew into a multitude of different voices as the sound drew closer. "Or-ruk-zum. Or-ruk-zum". They were joined by something else now - a drumbeat. For all its immensity, the trillions of component leaves in the forest-face began to quiver. "Or-ruk-zum! Or-ruk-zum!" It was a guttural chorus now. There was no doubt as to what the source of the chanting was. A horde.<br/><br/>"OR-RUK-ZUM! OR-RUK-ZUM!" The sound of the orcs' march was cacophonous when the first rank of the creatures emerged from the maw. The fangs of the forest shook, as did the very ground itself. The earth was pounded by a storm of heavy feet - some bare, some clad in heavy, shoddy boots. It seemed as if a tide of green flowed forth, from almost as far as one could see along the forest boundaries. Bellowing, tusked faces roared a spittle-laden cry of defiance. The primary combatant element of the wall, it would seem, was a vast wall of spears held in tandem with reinforced wooden shields the size of doors. The crudely forged iron that the orcs used in war had a dull glow to it, standing in stark opposition to the gleaming shine of Fahrendeilian steel. The bodies and limbs of the spear-bearing orcs seemed to be covered by hefty, dark plates of primitively fashioned armour. Nothing even close to the sophistication and quality of human plate armour, but easily enough protection to stop ab blow.<br/><br/>Two more ranks of massive orcs bearing their long spears emerged from the forest. All-in-all, there were easily four or five hundred in the three ranks deep formation, all well-armed-well shielded. Behind them, a far less ordered sea of green marched with lethal purpose. Where the orc spearmen seemed to be some kind of elite unit, the rest of the orcs, who easily numbered thrice their brethren, were every bit as savge as their reputation suggested. Clad in only minimal scraps of armour, the vast majority of the orcs wielded vicious hand weapons for close combat - predominately axes and cudgels, with the odd cleaver. They either bore a weapon in each hand, a weapon with a relatively compact, round shield for parrying, or a much larger weapon with both hands. These ones were warriors, but they had no true soldier's discipline - clearly, they were itching for a scrap, and nothing more. They had to be repeatedly shoved back in line by the spear-bearers - this proved a relatively easy task, as the front three ranks seemed to be composed of only the largest of the orcs, capable of bullying the berserk mass into submission with their elbows and backs.<br/><br/>Then, the crowd parted, admitting a lone orc. Their chants only grew stronger as he came into view - their feet and spear-hafts hammered into the earth in a brutal percussion, timed with the syllables of their fearsome chant.<b>"OR-RUK-ZUM! OR-RUK-ZUM!"</b>The orc strode to the front of his army - he was not even close to small for an orc, but he looked it next to the huge spear-bearers. He was not the broadest, nor was he slim. Once he was at the front of his force, he gazed upon his foe, and sneered, raising his arms into the air at his sides in a quizzical, masculine gesture. Then, he turned to his orcs, and began to speak - they went silent the moment his eyes fell upon them. The guttural orc language was not one many humans understood, so his words, though they echoed across the brief plane of grass and up the hill towards the humans, meant nothing. But what any who heard would understand, however, was the sheer strength in his voice. It was rough and deep, like the voice of any orc, but there was a tremendous amount of emotion in his words - he seemed to be hearkening to sentiments dear to his people, speaking of victory and plunder perhaps, but also of freedom. Of bravery. He was a demagogue - amongst orcs, a rabble-rouser like him was a dangerous thing. Hordes under orcs like him could topple kingdoms as they grew and grew, feeding off the carnage and battle they inflicted in a manner totally inverse to the inevitable war-weariness of humans. Of course, this knowledge was likely gone from the the humans - it had been many, many long decades since the orcs had posed a true threat. Yet now, the small host of Fahrendeil faced thousands. And this, Ariel had no way of knowing, was only the vanguard.<br/><br/>Once he was done, he turned back to the enemy host on the hill - this orc knew the enemy general was no fool. A lesser commander might well actually order their troops into the forest, underestimating the orcs and overestimating the fervour and skill of their own forces - his foe, who he did not yet know as Ariel, knew her advantages. That hill would be her lifeline in the coming battle. It would also be her doom. With a mighty roar, he raised a bejewelled two-handed axe of war to the heavens, ordering his host to advance. This weapon, unlike the others, gleamed of masterfully forged, well-kept steel. It was not your average orc battle implement. He allowed the wall of shields to overcome him and conceal him as his host stormed forwards at an eager pace, the spear-bearers making sure the retained a neat line-formation.He knew he was too valuable to be cut down by an arrow leading from the front - his men knew that as well. As they marched, a new chant started, a name bellowed on each step. The Fahrendeilians now heard the name of their foe.<b><span style="font-size: 18px">"THROM! THROM! THROM!"</span></b>