War-Chief's Bounty

Part 1

You've spent days tracking down this creature. It rode a beast that was twisted and savage. Tearing open anything that came across its path and the Orc rider permitted it to kill.
Most of its victims were fleeing humans. You didn't know where they came from, nor would you like to find out.
The orc and it's guards have laid waste to many small villages and towns. More than you could gather information on.
This monster was a war-machine with no master. And with the bounty on its head, you were more than happy to take it down.

On the fourth night of tracking the Orc War-chief into the wastelands; you finally caught up to him. He made it easy for you. The group of five heavily armoured grunts left deep imprints in the dry, cracked earth. The mount the orc rode left a trail of dead bodies in its wake. Anything that managed to survive out in this hell-scape, and was unlucky enough to stumble upon the Orcs, was immediately killed for their supper or to feed the beast.

You were just glad that you found their camp as night started to fall. Tracking them in the dark, in unknown territory, was just as dangerous as taking the squad head on.
You climbed the stony hill that separated you and the orcs. Grass pricked your skin through your leather armour. Not even your boots could protect you from the sharp stones hidden beneath the soil.
Downwind from the beast gave you the advantage that it wouldn't smell your cuts from the thorny bushes.

I can barely wait to slit this orc's throat and be done with this hellish landscape. You hissed to yourself as you brushed off a fly from your shoulder. It was big and green, and it made a horrible wet noise whenever it moved.

Settling down by a boulder, concealing yourself from the camp, you observed the group.
You counted five smaller orcs. Each had removed their helmets and were in various stages of removing their cumbersome armour. The Chieftain's mount was curled up near a large tent. Tearing apart a large mammal between its paws.
You immediately knew that the Chief would be in that tent. And it was on the outskirts of the camp. An easy slit to the canvas side and you could be in and out before any of the creatures sensed you.
You just needed to be patient.

As the fire turned to coals, and the orcs fell into their drunken slumber, you made you move. Sneaking along the hill side and making sure to keep to the large rocks and plants for cover.
You kept low. Dagger unsheathed in your hand; ready to attack if needed.
The mount was fast sleep. Stretched out on its back with its leg in the air and the leftovers from its meal beneath its spiny hide. Every so often, its massive paws would kick out and it would make a grunt like sound.
Every movement it made, you were sure it would wake, and you'd be its midnight snack.
But it stayed asleep. Continuing with its dream as you carefully picked your way down the hill towards the back of the tent.

No one-liners. No acts of revenge. Just slit the Orc's throat and run.

Your own words echoed in your head as the blade of your weapon pierced the side of the tent. The tearing sound of the canvas was barely audible. But you still stalled your entry; listening for any sign of the Chieftain stirring.
However, the thunderous snoring from within told you he was still very much asleep.

You slipped through the tear in the tent. Crouching in the shadows as you observed your surroundings.
The tent was bare of anything, but a pile of the Chieftain's armour and a discarded bowl of half eaten sour smelling soup.
A small fire still flickered in the centre of the tent. It had enough logs on it to keep it lit throughout the night. And beside it, slept the War Chief.
He was much bigger up-close. His broad shoulders would make a full-grown human look tiny on comparison. And the tusks that curled out of his lower jaw were jagged and cracked. But were still impressive enough to look like they could maul someone to death.