The Orcish Horde
By DJ Tyrer
Humans and Elves look with disdain
Upon the seething mass of Orcish flesh
Rude and uncivilised, wild
Uncultured and cluttered, cruel
Yet, their armies cannot stand
Against the seething mass of Orcish flesh
Implacable and unstoppable, strong
Violent and vicious, brave
The perceived Orcish inferiority
Somehow transforming to superiority
Rude and uncivilised, maybe
Vigorous and valorous, certainly
Humans and Elves look with disdain
Upon something they cannot comprehend
Quarrelsome and strange, alien
Wondrous and matchless, unique
Ba-Doom, Ba-Doom
By David M. Hoenig
The sun is low, the lines are met,
the drums play on both sides.
We move, our appetites are whet,
for coming, reddened tides.
The sun is high, the lines are blurred,
it’s “March!” and “Stand your ground!”
Cries and orders to be heard,
from standing and the downed.
The sun is low, the lines pulled back,
blood on each sword, each dirk.
But with the morn, renewed attack;
Orc mercenary work.
The Orcs are coming!
By DS Davidson
The Orcs are coming!
Goes up the cry
The great green horde
Are on their way
No city’s walls can withstand
The greatest terror in the land
The Orcs are coming!
They are drawing near
The great green horde
Inspiring fear
No city’s walls can withstand
The greatest terror in the land
The Orcs are coming!
They encircle the city
The great green horde
Slaughters without pity
No city’s walls can withstand
The greatest terror in the land
He Walks In Darkness
By David M. Hoenig
Beats the bright heart at the centre;
tinkling goblets and laughter,
humming harps and conversation,
pattering dance steps and wit.
Light informs it all:
understanding, opportunity, unity.
But far and away, the light is eaten
by voracious, primal night.
Atavistic terrors lurk unseen,
gauging, always, weakness to exploit.
He walks in darkness,
for it is there that the vigil is called.
Malevolence stalks, just out of sight,
intent on feasting
the rich, vulnerable lifeblood
which churns so preciously.
The sentry hears the heart beating,
though not always the predator.
Yet there the dusk warrior marches,
in harm’s way, undaunted,
the centre he can hear so distantly
is not where he belongs.
His life on his own terms,
because he chooses to walk in darkness.
Orcs in New York
By Mark Hudson
Orcs in New York are showing their fangs,
they’re here to battle the New York gangs.
With daggers made out of colourful onyx,
they’re here to take on the gangs from the Bronx.
Timelords versus vicelords, some speak Latin,
there to cause chaos in Manhattan.
The cyborg named Bloomberg will be annoyed,
when the city he knew is now destroyed.
Orcs will burrow through the boroughs,
as astounding a tale as Edgar Rice Boroughs.
No one will be left in Central Park,
the Orcs have left their menacing mark.
New York City sits on the Atlantic,
but with the Orcs there, the people are frantic.
New York’s finest cops cannot stop,
the Orcs from cutting off heads with a chop.
And here comes a rider like a myth that is Norse,
a patrolman galloping on a big horse.
He chases the Orcs back through the hole,
the other dimension, he was on patrol.
The police officer said in retrospect,
“In New york city, we serve and protect!
I saved the day from monsters at large,
it’s bad enough I have to deal with the Sarge!”
View From Atlantis 