Before the Gates of Fornost; Crog's promotion

Crog Skull-splitter glanced up from the campfire as the Chieftain and his cronies began moving through the clan, kicking and cursing them to their feet.  Crog managed to get up and hustle into position before they reached him and move to where they were herding the gathered warriors.
They were all snarling and grumbling, it was standard among the Broken-bone tribe of the Fornost Orcs, standard in fact among any orcs, anywhere.  The fighters of the Free Folks 'meat' had been particularly annoying lately, enraging the powerful commanders who had gathered the Broken-bone and many other clans to fight for them.
Crog skittered aside, avoiding the snapping jaws of one of the wargs and spitting at it's rider, taking care to do so when the rider's head was turned, of course.  There was a definitive heirarchy among the orcs and Crog knew it well enough to survive.  He and the rest of the gathered warriors began beating their weapons against their shields or brandishing them over their heads, building up their fury.  The anticipation of battle was thick in the air and their instincts told them all that it was time for blood and meat.
Modagomo, their Chieftain, pushed his way through the cronies, cuffing them aside when they were too slow to clear his path.  Drawing himself up to his full, terrifying height, he turned his beady, cunning and bloodshot eyes on the assembled warriors with a sneering countenance.
Opening his fang-filled maw, Modagomo drew breath to begin his harangue just in time for the arrow from behind them to whistle in and lodge itself deep within his throat, the bloody head of it ripping out the back of his neck.  Modagomo's eyes went wide with shock and gobbets of blood spewed from his torn open throat, spraying over the front ranks of his assembled warriors.
Crog was no dummy and rather than stare in shock as many of the rest of the Broken-bone warriors were doing, he spun, crouching and beheld the source of this outrage.  Standing on the nearest ridgeline, where there 'should have been' scouts, stood a line of the Free Folk meat, taunting them.  At their forefront was a heavily armored human with white face hair who was openly laughing while he rested a two handed sword across his broad shoulders.
Thinking fast, Crog turned to either side and began beating the flat of his blade on the backs of the orc's nearest them, screaming and pointing at the enemy.  His fellow tribesmen began turning as well and the clamor built in volume as they realised that the 'meat' had come to them for once.  Crog encouraged them to go, screaming imprecations and demands for the blood of the enemy, meanwhile staying as far back as he could while the now dead Chieftain's cronies shook off their stupor and started whipping the warriors into the fray.
Crog watched as the line of 'meat' moved down the slope partway, clearing the top of the ridgeline behind them.  His blood lust screamed at him to join his fellow warriors in the rush, but his survival instincts whispered another message as the two lines met with a crash of steel and blood.  Why, he wondered, did the 'meat' not stay where they had been to meet the charge of the orc warriors?
Without even thinking about it, Crog found himself in a running dive for cover as more figures appeared on the ridgeline, bows lifting and firing in unison over the heads of the 'meat' warriors and straight down into the milling mass of Broken-bone orcs pushing their way up to join the melee.  Blood curdling screams filled the air as the orc's assault withered under the punishing series of volleys.
From behind, Crog heard the horns and drums beating as the rest of the Fornost host began boiling out the gates toward the sound of battle.  Scrambling over corpses, Crog found the largest shield he could from among the dead and rose to his feet behind it, screaming imprecations and promises of bloody retribution as he waved his sword over his head and pointed at the 'meat', as if the newly arriving orc's were to blind to see where they were.
Even as he watched, Crog saw the 'meat' withdrawing in an orderly fashion, the archers on the ridgeline continuing to fire volleys at the approaching orcs while the melee fighters disengaged and made their way over the ridgeline as well.  The overly eager and notably stupid orcs who chose to pursue immediately were soon cut down as the rest of the orc reinforcements began arriving at the base of the hill. 
Crog wanted blood as much as the rest of the orcs did, but not at the expense of his own life or those of his tribe, so he began waving his sword at the oncoming reinforcements, signalling at them to move around the flanks of the ridge rather than directly over it's crest.
As he was the only one bellowing orders among the Broken-bone orcs, his fellows obeyed him while the reinforcements moved in pursuit of them, seeing the heaps of dead on the slope of the ridge and knowing they didn't want to join them.  Hidden by the roar of the furious orcs, the sound of retreating hoofbeats was muffled and by the time the orc's had managed to flank the ridge and charge to where the 'meat' had last been seen, they found instead the slowly settling dust and a clear trail showing where the enemy had fled.
Crog learned a lot about ambushes and running fights that day.  Now he knew that his own people were masters of such things, but he learned also that the 'meat' apparently knew as much and more.  Time after time he watched as orcs met with fiery explosions as the 'meat' drew them into positions and set off barrels of hidden oil with fire arrows, led them into fields filled with pits full of spikes or stopped to defend a well fortified outpost at the head of trails which offered prime fields of fire for the 'meat' archers while the orcs were forced to bunch up and rush the defended positions.
They'd finally retreated, setting up camp as night fell while the Broken-bone and other tribes sought to recuperate from the hellish day they'd been through.  Crog grew suspicious, wondering why they had not been reinforced and gathered a few warriors who'd taken to following him when they realised he had a highly valuable sense of self preservation.
Leading them along their backtrail and slaughtering any orcs from other tribes who objected to their leaving, they'd made their way to near the gates of Fornost where they recieved an answer to Crog's suspicions.  In their pursuit of the 'meat', the orcs had left the area undefended and another band of 'meat' warriors had simply moved in and repeated what the white haired human's warriors had done earlier.  There were fresh orc corpses littering the field and signs of another bloody trail leading in a different direction.
Crog took command then, sending runners after his tribes warriors still at the front with orders to withdraw and gather inside the safety of Fornost's wall.  Crog was furious, but impressed and fully intended to get revenge on the 'meat', but that would have to wait until he could reform his own people and make plans.  That white haired man was going to regret what happened, whatever it took.  The Broken-bone would have their revenge.