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THE ABDUCTION OF LADY ROWENA
CHAPTER 2 ORCS
By the Nine! Orcs a-pillagin'! Dead bodies everywhere, a bleedin', soakin' the very ground with the thick stinkin' ichor o' life. To be sure, it be not a pretty sight. Har! One can only be imaginin' the shock and outrage our brave and noble heroes be a-goin' through, ah, particularly one outspoken priest of Oa.
"By Oa's pick!" Owidd be exclaimin'. His face pales at the most gruesome o' sights, his eyes takin' on a tightness that be makin' them bulge even more.
"So it is here," he intones, "that our war against evil begins, my friends. Come, my brothers! Let us come down upon the evil beasts with the justices of Oa himself."
Sweet Mella! What a ham he be! 'Tis clear the young feller be overcome with such fervor that he be a-seeming-like on the verge o' tears. Hardpressed he be to control his timid steed, spooked as it be out o' its horsy gourd by the smell o' so much blood and death. He, Owidd that be and not the horse, be a-givin' up on the possibility o' takin' prisoners and be a-showin' heavy-like upon his quiverin' face, for so grievous was the crime in his eyes that sees bloody vengeance as the only way to be appeasin' the almighty Oa, Lord o' Justice.
But his words be all for naught, for they be a-fallen' on deaf ears, in a manner o' speakin', for already, the others be a-spurrin' into action, payin' him and his words no mind, havin' arrived at their own conclusions as to how this here encounter can only end.
Riverwood be nowhere to be seen, havin' vanished behind the nearby trees the moment they be a-seein' them vicious beasts, his long bow drawn and notched.
Ergo has leaped from his frightened mount and unsheathed his sword; all this he be doin' in one smooth motion. He has lost all semblance o' his sanity and there be murder in his eyes. Before any o' the others can do anythin', he be a-chargin' forward, cryin' out his challenge at the creatures that he be hatin' with such a vengeance.
"Die! Die! Die!" he be screamin', brandishin' his sword wildly in the air as he dashed past the wizard Morganth, who, without tellin' the others, has dismounted and doth positioned himself in the front, in the middle o' the road, and who be about to say somethin'.
Starin' at Ergo, however, Morganth thinks better o' it but instead he be a-stabbin' the ground with his staff and be a-bracin' himself. He proceeds to chant, whispery words that could only heard but not remembered flowin' from his quiverin' pale lips. Ar! What a sight he be! For lo! The frail mage begins to glow in a dull pulsin' aura, light vapors o' steam waftin' from the very ground around him. And his staff be appearin' wet as if it be sweatin'.
Gie then be a-cursin' under his breath, not yet quite believin' what be happenin' about him. He quickly dismounts, drawin' how own blade, and runs after that there psychopatic half-elf. That darn fool! He's gonna get himself killed!
Ignored as he be by his companions, Owidd be nonetheless undeterred for so flushed he be with the wrath o' the righteous that he seems to be in a world o' his own. He be a-liftin' his weapon, a military pick, as if to strike an invisible foe. "Let us smite them, my brothers," he be a-sayin'. "Smite them with the self fame cold blood as they have expended on those poor hapless souls. Ah, it pains my heart to see them so. They will be avenged! Justice there will be in the name of almighty Oa!"
With that said, the noble priest dismounts.
Suddenly, Morganth be a-shoutin', "Sharhi kelamu!" He raises his staff and swings it to point towards the nearest orc, a-sendin' it did a fine spray o' water beads into the air. There be a blindin' flash as a beam o' light be a-shootin' forth from that there staff's tip and doth strikes the orc square in the chest, it did.
The orc be a-squealin' in pain then, clutchin' at its wounded bossom. It be a-staggerin' several steps back and collapses.
Leanin' on his sleek wet staff, Morganth watches the orc hit the ground with gleeful satisfaction. He nods wearily to himself and wipes the profuse sweat from his brow. He be appearin' flushed, paler that what be usual for him. His breathing be labored now. Indeed, the fact o' that there matter, he be a-gaspin' for air, as if the very wind be knocked out from his lungs. The spell he had but woven be an easy one. At least, it was supposed to be. Morganth be a-rememberin' his apprentice days, when many an afternoon be spent in practice and preparation for the exertion o' mind and body as spellcastin' required; it came easy for him then. Nowadays, however, he be findin' it harder and harder to cas his spells, simple and basic as they be. It had been the cause o' many a sleepless night spent in worry and contemplation. He has yet to consult old Master Barradar and enlist his aid. In truth, however, he be a-shrinkin' from the very notion o' such a deed, not until he could face his kind teacher and be a-tellin' him with all honesty that he had spent all the resources open to him in findin' the solution to his dilemma.
For now, Morganth be contentin' himself with the knowledge that he has done his part. It be up to the others now. Not quite succeedin' in fallin' down, he limps towards the trees to find himself a decent restin' place where he could watch the fight unobserved.
Ergo be a-growlin' and a-howlin', chargin' at the orcs like some rabid animal. Ha-har! That Ergo be after me own heart, he does. Reminds me o' meself in me old buccaneer days in the high seas o' Curdled Queen. Them tweed-wearin' pipe-totin' turkeys didn't know what hit them, har!
Now where be we? Ah, yes. Ergo be a-spittin' vile threats o' at the orcs, laughin' maniacally whilst he be a-closin' the gap between them, all the while wieldin' his sword wildly in the air. Considerin' this, it be fortunate indeed that he had taken his companions unawares for they would have been skewered most assureldly had they been chargin' alongside him.
Fortune, blessed be her fickle heart, be seemin' to favor him this very day for lo! he has taken the orcs completely by surprise and though they be quick to recover and draw their blood-encrusted short swords, he be upon them before they could do anythin' else. He be a-lungin' foward, the wicked tip o' his blade intent upon the distended belly o' the nearest orc.
But the orc be a-ready for him. Oh, aye. It ducks to the right, displayin' as it did a surprisin' degree o' nimbleness despite its bulk and Ergo's blade slices harmlessly through the air. The orc then be a-twistin' about with a grunt, a-takin' hold o' its filthy sword with both hand, and raises it high in the air.
Sensin' the urgency o' the situation, Riverwood spurs into action. He had been lookin' for a good vantage from which to pick at the orcs but there was no more time. He jerks back and lets loose an arrow.
He had slipped into the woods with plans o' ambushin' the beasts with a shower o' arrows, weakenin' them, killin' one or two if possible, whilst the other be closin' in and finishin' them in a quick swoop. He had expected the battle to be swift and easy. What he did not expect was to see Ergo blindly chargin' in like a maddened bull, announcin' his presence to the orcs by screamin' to high heaven that they be about to die. It all happened so quickly; before he knew it, Ergo had closed in and was engagin' the orcs in hand-to-hand combat.
Riverwood had stared in disbelief. Never before had he seen such a thin'. Now he disliked orcs as much as the next guy, particularly when they go about murderin' innocent folk. But, Ergo, it was clear that the guy really had it in for orcs. He hatred for them was so great it had driven him completely mad at the mere sight o' them. The buggers probably killed his parents or somethin'.
He hesitated then, for fear of hittin' the battle-crazed half-elf. He was a good shot; on a good day, he could pick an apple off a tree at thirty paces but one can never be sure in close quarter combat.
However, it soon became evident to the ranger that he must do somethin' fast or Ergo will be done for. Four against one, Ergo was sorely outnumbered. It was only a matter of time before the orcs overcame him despite his feverish strength and ferocity. To be sure, Gie and Owidd were rushin' to his aid but from the look o' things, they would be too late to stop the orcs from inflictin' grievous wounds upon his person.
"The Three be with you" he had murmured then, handin' Ergo's fate into the hands o' the gods.
The arrowhead glints in the light of the sun as the missile whistled and arched unerrin'ly through the air. Like a bobby pin through a pincushion, it be a-sinkin' with a meaty thunk into the orc's broad shoulder. Understandably, the orc squeals in pain. It turns to face its new assailant only to be greeted with yet another of that there ranger's arrows. Seein' thus that the orc be not yet undone, he be a-followin' the first with a second and this time, the arrow sinks into orc's thick neck, cuttin' short the brute's screamin' into a gurgle. Droppin' its sword, the orc collapses to the ground like a felled tree.
Gie mutters his thanks to the gods under his breath. He be a-seein' two o' the brutes fall, one to Morganth's magic, the other to Riverwood's arrows, at least, he be assumin' the arrows were Riverwood's. Perhaps Fortune really was smiling down upon that crazed half-elf and he may yet get out of this scrape with but a nick or two for his idiocy.
Ergo be not out of yet, however. Oh, no. Far from it, I should say. He still be facin' three orcs and though three against one be a whole lot better than five against one, it still be three against one and all it be takin' to put that there fight to an abrupt end be one lucky blow.
Gie prays that he get there in time.
The gods, however, seem not to be listenin'. Not all the orcs be gathered in the one group that Ergo had attacked. One had strayed from the others in its greedy search for booty amongst the mutilated bodies. Upon seein' its brethren attacked so, it picked up a large and hefty rock and hurried to their aid, seeking to maneuver behind the ragin' half-elf and bash his head in. The orc had scarcely taken three steps when it saw the advancin' Gie.
Ah, the orc be a-stoppin' then, in mid-step at that. Squealin' in anger in the way that only its kind could, it heaves the over its head and throws it with all its might.
Gie leaps to the side but all for naught. The rock be a-hittin' him, glancin' against his left shoulder. O-ho! Gie be pissed off now! To be sure! Nobody, and I mean nobody, likes to be struck with a big hunk o' rock, to have a sharp stabbin' pain on one's shoulder that be threatenin' to rob one of one's consciousness or clarity o' mind. Oh, no, well except maybe if one be one o' them sick fellows that goes for this here kind o' crap. Cursin' angrily, Gie be a-throwin' himself forward, makin' short work o' the several feet that lay between him and the orc and slashin' out with his sword.
But the rock, oh that cursed piece o' petrified earth! has stunned him somewhat and thus his balance be a bit off. The orc, giddy as a lout drunk with various flammable spirits, dances away gleeful-like from the disembowelin' edge of his blade.
Oh, that be makin' Gie furious to no end indeed. Oh, indeed! For the bruise on his shoulder be a-stingin' him far worse than the bite o' the needle wasp in the heat o' the matin' season, his own display o' clumsiness be a gnawin' at his already badly frayed pride to boot. Snarlin', he be a-takin' his bastard sword in both hands then and doth be a-strikin' at the orc with a wide archin' blow that be sure to split an iron helm in twain much less the creature's flab-laiden head.
But again the orc, it be displayin' uncanny agility. It be a-leapin' to the side lightnin' quick and Gie's sword slices nothin' but air. Lickin' its drool-flecked lips, the orc grins and draws it own weapon, short sword rusted and chipped to the hilt...
And promptly be a-droppin' it as an arrow sinks deep into its flank. Squealin' in pain and pawin' at the unexpected thorn in its side, the orc falls to its knees, when as it did another missile be a-whizzin' over its head missin' by a fraction o' an in inch to strike the nearby wagon with a quiverin' thwank. Again, it be seemin', that Riverwood has dared ol' Bumbabal's Whim and let loose a couple more arrows and again did the gods be a-puttin' their favor upon him.
Makin' a beeline for Ergo and the two orcs that be facin' him, Owidd then be a-runnin', nay!, chargin' in leaps and bounds as if the slack-jawed hounds o' Oa be a-breathin' down his heels, in his hands be his footman's pick, proud and deadly, held high in the air, his mutterin's growin' in volume and intensity as he got closer.
"And the mighty hand of Oa did come down from the heavens and gave me strength," the gaunt-lookin' priest intones, "the heart, and the power to smite mine enemies around me! And verily did mine enemies perish at the altar of my feet, sacrifice to the justice of the almighty, their blood mingling with the mud from whence they sprang, and to which they return, unmourned, unpitied, ruthlessly thrown to the fires of their fates wich they have earned in the blood of innocents!"
Thus did Owidd bury the the tip o' his pick into the exposed chest o' the nearest orc.
Wounded with blood a-sprayin' in all directions, the orc squeals in pain, oh aye, for who wouldn't with several inches o' cold steel embedded in one's flesh? But the beast be far from undone. Deep anger and hatred now be a-fillin' its beady little eyes to overflowin'. It raises yon short sword, flecked with dried blood and rust, its point unerringly poised towards Owidd's belly.
Despite the holy fervor upon him, the priest be realizin' there and then that he be in trouble and his gaze be drawn like a moth to flame towards the seemin'ly gleamin' and slow-movin' point o' the orc's blade as it be a-dartin' towards him. But Oa the Just, almighty god o' his brethren, lord o' all glum-faced and gap-toothed gravediggers, has looked upon this his most outspoken o' advocates with favor and doth did command his followers to dig not the grave o' Owidd, a rare thing indeed these days considerin' Oa's disposition towards this his humble servant. For lo! Attracted by the orc's squealin', Ergo grinnin' from ear to ear be a-turnin' round and lops off the head o' the distracted beast. And the orc be a-howlin' no more.
But Ergo be not finished yet. Oh, no, far from it. In a smooth transition and amazin' display o' control, he be a followin' his slash attack , spinnin' around and lashin' at yon other orc with his iron fist, a spiked iron ball where his left hand used to be.
But the orc be expectin' him, havin' witnessed what he had done to its companion. It be a-duckin', lungin' to the side and stabbin' at Ergo with its short sword as it did. It misses by a wide margin.
In the meantime, Morganth be a-watchin' all that has transpired from the safety o' his hidin' place. He sees Owidd and Ergo dispatch one o' the orcs and hears the twang o' Riverwood's bow nearby. He watches in silence as the orc falls to its knees with an arrow in its side. It be clear to him that though his friends be havin' the orcs outnumbered now, they were still in dire straits. That the orcs be doomed was imminent but by their performance, it be also clear to his fevered mind that one o' his friends be goin' to get himself seriously injured.
He be a-shakin' his head and frowns. "They should have waited," he mumbles weak-like. He then begins to limp towards the battle but pauses for a moment, realizin' that in his present condition, all that he could do, all that succor he could offer his companions was to whack one o' the orcs weakly on the head with his trusty staff.
He then stares at his staff, at its glistenin' surface. It be lookin' like it had been sweatin'. As always, a shiver runs through his spine. He wishes that he knew the words his master spoke of, those words that would unlock the power in his staff.
But there be nothin' to do about it now. Again shakin' his head, he continues on his way.
