After the surrender of the garrison in Fort Higgins was anticlimactic for many of the orcs. Some didn't even manage to get past the front gate before the soldiers were throwing down their weapons and surrendering. This was terribly depressing to those who hadn't gotten to swing a club. There was talk about leaving the fort and fixing the gates so they could attack again, but the human soldiers were so demoralized that only a few of them seemed to like the idea. Fort HigginsDeprived of a good fight, the orc hordes prepared for the traditional victory party. They would eat every bit of food, drink all the alcohol, and build a large bonfire fueled by firewood, beds, wagons and anything else they could find. Then the prisoners would be released one by one, their hands tied behind their backs to play 'tag' with the smallest of children who would chase them away from the fort, beating them with large sticks. It was never too early to begin club training.But once again, they were disappointed.A bloodied and barely alive DarkDeath walked up to the fire, strode into it uncaring and kicked it apart. "No fire yet. We need some of this stuff. Take all the wagons outside, the seasoned wood, the stacks of hides and leather. Then pack the food into the wagons. Take the tasty bits, I don't care, but we need food to feed our prisoners while we escort them to Midlands. And the barrels, no burning barrels. Empty them out and drink your fill, but anyone burning a barrel is getting a few knots on their head from my club."He glared around them. "We do this for Tradition!"That confused many of them. "Tradition?""Yes, Tradition. I have gained inspiration about Tradition! "No tag?" "No big fire?" "No eating everything?""Nope."One warchief who went by the name Snaggletooth, walked up to the Warchief and stared at him, arms crossed. "Why?" Possibly he was emboldened by the numerous wounds that DarkDeath had taken, but the Warchief thought he saw a glimmer of intelligence in those eyes."More Tradition! The important traditions are fighting, drumming, and clubs. Fire, Tag, and Eating everything are fun, but not tradition. More Clubs. More Drums. More Fighting. More Tradition!"Snaggletooth mulled that over in his mind, then nodded to DarkDeath. He turned and shouted at his own clan, "MORE TRADITION!""MORE TRADITION!" The chant caught on quickly and orcs ran to do what DarkDeath had ordered. DarkDeath gathered his inner circle of chiefs, which now included Snaggletooth. He'd chosen all of them for their ability to see past the immediate present. "I want to use all of that wood and leather to make more drums. The big ones that need a small club to beat. As many as we can make. The rest of the seasoned wood gets turned into clubs, big ones like my two-hander with a heavy head. As soon as we get that done, we're marching to Midlands with the prisoners and all of the empty barrels. And were doing it with Tradition!" He went on to fill the chiefs in on the outline of his plans and one by one, could see the fire light behind their eyes as they saw the shape of his thoughts. Then they chuckled and drank a keg of beer, tossing the empty keg to a wagon, and got to work making more drums and large clubs than any war horde had ever had.They left the morning after the next, wagons full of empty barrels, and man-food for the prisoners. Fort Higgins hadn't been resupplied in many months and the soldiers were reduced to eating the oldest of their emergency supplies. The orcs took one look at the dubious food and shook their heads at what humans would eat. The double-baked groat loaves no orc would touch. Likewise, who would eat the salted pork they found in storage with its unhealthy odor and color. To make sure his prisoners didn't die eating their own food, DarkDeath ordered his shamans to cast Remove Poison on each barrel, and had the pork cooked again over smoky fires until it was charred on the outside. The humans seemed appreciative of the gesture. DarkDeath just didn't want to deal with a few hundred humans suffering from food poisoning. They marched the next day, long rows of orcs with new drums made of thick hides. Hitting them with the small clubs produced a loud 'Boom.' Everyone liked the new drums, except for the humans marching along behind the wagons. Directly behind the rows of drummers were orcs with new two-handed clubs, so heavy they could barely wield them.Chief Snaggletooth had earned the position of band leader when he caught on to things quickly. He was mounted upon his war-lizard at the front of the army. Beside him were two large orcs with flags. One was red, with a drum painted on it. The other was green, with a large club. DarkDeath explained the new tradition to the army. "We are going to march to Midlands with Tradition, drumming and clubbing. When the Drum Flag is up, the drummers will pause and hit their drums every third step. We'll be calling this out until you get the hang of it. When the Club Flag is up, the clubbers with slam their clubs into the ground every 3rd step. Got it?"The orcs mumbled to themselves and shrugged. How hard was it to walk and drum or hit the ground. After marching for a minute, the Drum Flag went up. Half the drummers missed the first beat, and many were off on their timing. A few clubbers were hitting the ground. DarkDeath sighed, but had expected this."We need to pay attention. To help with that, I have a plan. I left a lot of room between the rows, so the helpers can slide in. Deploy now helpers, and be ready, I'm counting on you." The helpers were all children or young warriors, armed with small clubs and wicked smiles. Each positioned themselves behind and drummer or clubber. DarkDeath yelled out, "We'll try this again, and as many times as it takes. If you drum when you aren't supposed to, a helper will hit you in the head or other tender part. If you aren't drumming when you should be, or are off the beat, your helper will remind you. And the same for the clubbers. You can't retaliate or hit your helpers, that will displease the gods and is against Tradition. We are learning new ways to club and drum. New ways to please the gods. Pay attention to the flags and the band leader. Take it away, Snaggletooth."It was a long afternoon, with drummers drumming, clubbers clubbing, and most of all, helpers helping. By the time they'd marched twenty miles, everyone seemed to be getting the hang of things, and the helpers were becoming disappointed. So DarkDeath changed things up, having the flags go up and down in odd patterns, sometimes one, sometimes the other, and sometimes none. None was very important. He had the helpers hit people twice who made noise while no flag was up. Three miles from the town of Midlands, one of only two teleporters left in the southern part of the Empire, the orcs stopped moving. DarkDeath had them keep practicing while he talked to the human soldiers. They were unshackled and told to stand in ranks. "Ok, listen up. I have some messages for whoever is commanding that fortress. First off, nice job! Greenburrow was too easy and Fort Higgins was pathetic. Those walls I see people working on are great and I look forward to knocking them over. And have no doubts, we are coming for you, and expect a damned good fight. But for now, we have some serious drumming to do and you lot are just in the way, so I'm getting rid of you."The old commander, a veteran of many years and few, if any battles, was surprised. "You are releasing us?"DarkDeath shook his head, "Nope, I'm ransoming you back to the Empire and expect that your Emperor will do the honorable thing and pay the ransom. Please pass on that not paying the ransom will mean that next time I capture a bunch of his mean, surrender or no surrender, we'll club you in the head. Prisoners are a pain, especially feeding you with the shitty food you feed yourselves. Easier to kill you and toss you in a mass grave...unless I can ransom you back for a small profit. But that's up to him. I've heard he's a decent guy, but you never know with humans. Anyway, that's why we're sending back all the empty barrels. I want them filled and returned.""I'm sorry? You don't like our food. Filled with what?"DarkDeath smiled, "Good question! There are 1506 of you that I'm tossing back. The ransom for one soldiers is a barrel of Bludgeon Brew. Upgrade that to Blud Dark, and it counts as five. And I'll count every barrel of Blud Extra Dark, Blud Special Dark, and Blud Double-Dark Reserve as fifteen barrels. Officers need to be paid for by Blud Extra Dark, one barrel per officer. Do that, and I'll be encouraged to take more prisoners. You've got two weeks to deliver it to Fort Higgins or the deals off."The confused officer only nodded his head in understanding, but a grizzled sergeant spoke up. "I'll make sure they get the message, loud and clear." DarkDeath smiled, "Good, now get moving. We'll be back soon, one way or another."The humans took off at a fast trot, lead by the Sergeant and encouraged by the sound of the orcish war drums beating behind them, and clubs slamming into the ground. Snaggletooth yelled at the horde, "Alright, follow me. We're making a turn around and heading back the way we came, and I want those humans to hear our drums for the rest of the day, so beat them loud."
Upon debriefing dozens of soldiers and hearing the Warchief's demands for ransom, General Themis revised her opinion on the threat they were facing. "Listen up people. You're laughing about paying off a bunch of orcs with beer, and missing the important things we have to consider. The orcs have always been hampered by their traditional way of thinking. It hobbles their leaders and creates fast turnover. We saw that in how they took Greenburrow, left a token force, and went back to Fort Higgins. He was probably screaming at them all the way and had to fight to keep his position."There were a few chuckles that quieted as she glared at them.
"But not now. This one is different. He learned something. He's using tradition to change how they fight. He's got them so busy drumming and thumping the ground that they don't realize he's teaching them to march fast and follow orders. And I don't like how he took Fort Higgins. Orcs have used war machines before. They love catapults, or as they call them, 'rock tossers'. Even use them to throw themselves over the walls sometimes. It looks scary to see an orc flying at you yelling 'Up, Up, and Away', but it just leaves quite mess. But onagers to knock down a gate? That's new. I want every gate looked at and tested. If they can make a half-dozen onagers, they can make a dozen, or bigger ones. We need to be prepared."Men made notes, and the engineers in charge of building the new fortress were already pulling out blueprints. Themis let them continue and turned to her Quartermaster, a veteran who had served with her on several campaigns. "I've got some work for you, Chet. I need a message send to the Baron of Gadobhra and I want you to take it there personally. I need enough beer to pay the ransom on our troops, and I need ballista with twice the range of his standard onagers. A dozen of them, and a rush order."The old Quartermaster nodded, but had a question. "How are we paying for this? You know requisitions will drag their feet.""That's why I'm sending you, and not letting them know. Tell Baron William to add it to the things he's selling to the Empire. He and Gustavus have some deal going, and I plan to take as much advantage of it as I can."