Tradden reached out, found a handhold on the stonework and pulled himself through the window.

It was difficult to squeeze through, and he had to go backwards at one point, his feet right on the edge of the entrance. Despite his care his foot slipped, and he tumbled backwards onto the floor and smashed against a wooden post, catching a short shaft sticking out at the bottom of his back.

For a second he was stunned and remained motionless, then the shaft that supported him started to move and there was a loud grating, of metal on stone. He caught himself and grabbed the shaft, stopping it turning, which in turn stopped the noise.

The post seemed to be a cog of some kind, the shaft that had so rudely bludgeoned his back one of the teeth, with stout chains wrapped around the cog's sturdy base. Another of the posts sat a couple of dozen feet away to his south.

As he rose, he let the tooth slip a little and it turned a foot or so with that same grating noise and he quickly grabbed it and stopped whatever he was happening.

With his hand firmly keeping the cog in place he took a good look around. He was in a long corridor, running along the front of the gatehouse. There were doors, all closed, at various points in the eastern wall. There was nothing else of interest apart from the two cogs until suddenly, a door to his south opened up and the helmed hed of an orc looked up the corridor with a surprised look on its face.

The orc at the doorway appeared to be very confused, but quickly regained its composure, barking out an order in a tongue that Tradden did not understand in the slightest. The intent, however, the young fighter did understand. It was calling for help.

Seeing Tradden was unarmed, it smiled and drew a short but wicked sword from its belt. This orc wasn't one of the brutes from down in the courtyard, it looked to have a bit more about it than those. Along with its helm it wore a ring-mailed shirt with patches of plate coverings at some of the sensitive areas. It also moved forwards with grace and purpose, rather than a simple charge of some of the other orcs he had met.

It moved around the cog and headed towards the young fighter, who was still holding onto the cog. There, it took a moment, before chopping down towards Tradden's head.

Tradden tried to dodge to one side without letting go of the cog, but the blade caught him on his shoulder anyway.

Another orc appeared in the doorway, responding to the earlier barked order. It already looked to be armed and also aware that there were intruders. It took a look up the corridor.

With a few strides it closed in on Tradden.

Then there was another.

This one came through the door and got to the side of the cog, drawing its weapon at the sight of Tradden.

More kept coming through the door.

This one barely got through the door before it spied the young fighter and barked out a cry.

As Tradden quickly scanned the door behind him the nearest one suddenly opened. A rush of hot air and a grey-brown steam leapt out of the doorway and filled the corridor, then dispersing somewhat through the windows he had come from. The heat itself was bordering on uncomfortable, but it was the smell that wrinkled the young fighter's nose.

The smell reminded him a little of a store towards the end of Shinbone Alley that purported to sell food. They had a cook that used to put everything in a pot and leave it cooking for weeks. Most of it was rancid. The fumes leaving the room as the door was opened was just like that. The orc, unarmoured and dressed in a simple apron, held a large wooden spoon, that it quickly grabbed as though it were a prized weapon and stepped out into the corridor behind him.

The room the orc had vacated was hazy to see into, the strange coloured steam and cloud blocking most of it, but Tradden thought he spied another two orcs alongside what appeared to be a giant cooking pot atop a stone ringed fire.

To the south of Tradden, the orcs continued their charge up the corridor, the closest covering the gap quickly with its blade outstretched.

It circled round the cog and limp body and slashed its blade across Tradden's chest.

By the skin of his teeth Tradden managed to roll back a little and avoid the blow.

The other orcs charged towards the young fighter in turn.

There was just enough room near the cog, and the corpse, for this orc to fit and it tried to swipe at Tradden with a quick cut.

The brute swung too low, though, as the blade struck the cog and stuck deep into the woodwork.

The remaining orc in the corridor slowed his charge at the other orcs surrounded Tradden.

There was no room left for it to get close enough to the young fighter to swing its sword, so it simply waited, ready to pounce.

Whatever it was that the orcs in the room were doing in the heat and the cloud they continued to do so, ignoring Tradden now that one of their comrades had headed out to slay the puny human.

Despite the heat around the fire and the cauldron, one of the orcs leaned above it, a great wooden ladle or spoon in its arms, stirring whatever they were boiling up.

Taking advantage of the fact that one of the orcs next to him was still trying to pull its sword out of the wooden cog mechanism, Tradden waltzed, literally, backwards.

The other orc tried to swing, but with Tradden's step, slide, step he picked the wrong foot movement, and his blade went wide with Tradden's slide.

As Tradden backed off into the room, the orc followed, more cautiously now that the young fighter had bit his steel into the creature's side.

Getting close to the pot it turned to face Tradden and swiped at him with its sword.

This time the blade struck and the orc licked its lips with glee.

Pulling its sword out of the cog with a snarl the orc chased after Tradden through the door.

There was just about enough space in the room for them, all to be in there and to be able to swing a weapon.

It too connected with the young fighter.

With two of its comrades down and an intruder in the gatehouse, the orc panicked a little. It took off as fast as its legs would take it.

It disappeared through the other door and was gone.

Startled at the intruder's entrance the orc nearest the pot only gaped at Tradden. The human thing was coming close and it needed to defend itself.

It swung the spoon it held in a wide arc, aiming for Tradden's head. It almost caught the young fighter by surprise, but he managed to duck at the last second and the club went sailing over his head.

The last of the orcs had its spoon already in the pot and had been stirring away when Tradden had rudely interrupted. It thought quickly — for an orc.

It yanked the spoon out of the pot and threw the liquid from the bowl of the spoon towards Tradden. The spray, however, covered everyone next to the pot. Both orcs cried out. The liquid was scoldingly hot and where it landed on skin it burnt like the fires of the Nine Hells.

As Tradden dodged and weaved blades and… spoons… the one thing he couldn't evade was the foul and deleterious fumes from the cauldron.

The remaining armoured orc did seem to have a look of panic in its eyes now. The intruder had swiftly dispatched many of its kin and it didn't seem to want to be next.

It moved to block the door, uncertain of what to do. Wildly, it decided to make a swing with its weapon.

It was indeed a wild swing and the creature started to back through the door.

Sensing the orc was making a bolt for it, Tradden stepped forward and lunged with his sword.

Tradden spluttered with the noxious fumes at the same time that he made his swing and it went desperately wide of the mark. The orc continued to back out of the door.

When it had got a little space between itself and gthe young fighter it turned to the north and fled.

It didn't slip Tradden's mind that there was another orc somewhere, that had fled up the corridor and through one of the doors, just like the one that had escaped his clutches here. He didn't know where either of them were heading, but he knew that they could cause trouble for him.

With only itself and the intruder in the the room and with no way past the twin-bladed attacker, the last orc just screeched and thrashed at Tradden with its giant utensil.

It waved its weapon with some skill, thought Tradden, seeing as it was just for stirring.

The waving and thrashing must have been mesmerising — or it was the fumes, of course — as the club hit the young fighter on his temple.

The fumes in the room burnt Tradden's nostrils and made his eyes water.

His throat continued to burn, but he seemed to be past the worst of it.

Tradden knew he needed to be swift — there was at least one, if not two at minimum, orcs that knew he was here and that the rest were outside.

A waft of musty air hit the young fighter as he opened the door and the distinct odour of sweat and, well, “creature”. It was hard to pinpoint. It didn't smell as bad as he thought it would, as he guessed, from the cots lining the walls of the long room, that this was some sort of garrison barrack room. It was neat as well — perhaps this was the chamber where the hobgoblins had rested rather than the orcs.

The room was a couple of dozen feet wide and went back nearly fifty feet or so. There was room for quite a few occupants here, but fortunately the room was empty at the moment. It was lit by lanterns high on the walls, but other than that it appeared sparse and empty. Its only feature was another door in the far wall.

To his relief there were no further orcs, just a long and straight corridor going back fifty or sixty feet. It was lit by candles in sconces on the left wall and there were two doors along the right hand wall.

Before him was another barracks room, with cots lining the walls. Although there was the musty smell of the room being lived in, the cots were tidy, though there was nothing else of note within the room.

Despite his portly frame, the rogue was swift climbing the rope and soon found himself outside the window from where the rope had been thrown. It looked like a tight fit, but nothing ventured, nothing gained and he started to squeeze himself through.

Tradden heard loud puffing as he reached the open door and turned to see a red-faced rogue trying to squeeze through the window. He seemed to be trying to pull himself through, without much luck.

The rogue's eyes widened as he saw the corpses of the orcs strewn on the floor and his nose wrinkled at the acrid smell. ‘What the…’ was all he managed.

Beyond the door was a tight corridor leading off to the east where it abruptly stopped at a metal door. The floorboards here looked well used, smooth and polished, as though many boots had worn the boards to a sheen.