Too many campaign comics and lots of video games breed some odd things sometimes. I own little that is referenced here and even used a name generator for the names.
Oakenrest was a small commerce town. Successful enough from the traffic that passed through on the way to the rest of Falo, but still not as big or important as other cities like Honeyhorn. Its citizens numbered little more than two hundred and few were the troubles of this border town. What few there were, though, were serious enough for hirelings and adventurers to be brought in to deal with them, as the royal army rarely came out so far. Often the small things lead the lesser beings on their first step down the path to greatness, and when a regiment of Orc bandits set up an encampment in a cave five miles from Oakenrest and began raiding the area for supplies, this seemingly simple incident led to the meeting of four persons who would never have met at this time or place, if at all, and would sway the future of much more than the Kingdom of Falo...
The Crow's Craw was the local pub in this small town that was built with the trees from the surrounding forest, lit by candles on the tables and counter and a fireplace at the far end of the room; the watering hole for the local farmers and tradesmen to relax and trade rumors and troubles. Pubs were also where warrants and requests were posted on bulletin boards on one of the interior walls, for any shmuck or aspiring hero daring or stupid enough to take them. Reuben Nieves was more the two latter of the four than the former. He entered through the door with practiced swagger, born of his years of mercenary work and his nigh peerless skill with a blade. His hair was short and brown, though a bit scruffy, like his short beard. He wore a leather jerkin, padded against damage and made of sturdiest hide, though weather-stained from travel, like his brown, hooded travelling cloak. Across his chest was a baldric that held a light, round steel shield against his back, as well as a traveling satchel full of his few belongings. A sturdy leather belt, slung diagonally across his pelvis, held, clasped, an iron cruxiform arming sword with a half-tapered blade, in a leather sheath. Leather gloves also adorned his hands and leather were his greaves and travel-worn boots. His brown eyes, sharp and grave, swept across the room, searching for a certain table. Finding it, he took several heavy steps through the room, ignoring the odd patron or two that looked his way. The table he headed towards already contained a tall, clever-looking woman. Her auburn hair tied back in a short ponytail, she eyed him knowingly with brown eyes as he came over dourly. She wore a leather jerkin, too, of similar make, though it was more weather-stained than his, reflecting how much time she spent outside. She also wore a baldric, though it normally held a quiver of arrows, rather than a shield, and said quiver and her satchel were set casually in the seat next to her. Bracers, greaves, and a weather-stained, brown, hooded travelling cloak also completed her attire, as well as a pair of travel-worn boots. A pair of long knives were clasped to her belt, sheathed with leather, as well.
Reuben approached the table, unsmiling, and sat down weightily, frowning at her sudden change from a matching frown to a smirk of amusement.
"Geez, Reuben, ya act like ya ain't happy ta see me!" she teased with a sly smirk. He rolled his eyes at her levity.
"Ya know I'm here 'bout that job ya mentioned. I walked three days ta get ta this outta the way place, Cerys," he paused as she shoved a wooden mug of ale towards him.
"Always all business, eh, Reuben?" she chuckled. "Ya were headin' over, anyway, so I figured, 'Why the hell not?'. Ya shouldn't complain 'bout payin' work,"
"About that, when am I gettin' paid and how much?" Reuben answered coolly, not rising to the barb.
"Well, we'll have ta wait 'til the others get here," Cerys replied absently, nibbling at a biscuit. Reuben's eyes narrowed.
"Ya know I prefer ta work by myself, yer lucky I let you in, ever," the mercenary grumbled, crossing his arms.
"Cain't help it, job's fer four an' two others already put in afore I got 'ere," the huntress rebuked. "You'll just have ta deal wit' it," She shoved the plate of scones at him as an act of contrition. He grudgingly took one.
Not a moment later, the pub door swung open again and a young man in pure white robes with matching hooded cloak and white cloth belt, showing only the smallest amount of dirt from travel, entered, carefully tapping the dirt from his rather new-looking leather boots before entering. His hair was longish and blond, though a bit tousled from his trip, and his eyes were blue. He gripped a wooden quarterstaff of ash and tipped with iron in one hand while wiping sweat from his face, with a white handkerchief, with the other. He put the handkerchief away and fingered his golden cross necklace nervously with his free hand as he looked around the dingy pub. Bryston hadn't liked the look of the place from the outside and the interior hadn't improved his opinion any. This place was much different from the Great Monastery, which had always been white, pristine, well-lit, and not reeked of alcohol and other things that the newly commissioned Cleric didn't want to think about. He was quite out of place here, as evidenced clearly by all of the stares he was getting, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and, pushing down his regret of taking a job out in this kind of area, walked towards the counter.
A Cleric must go to rather unpleasant places, sometimes, to do works of good, Bryston. He thought to himself. "E-Excuse me? Sir?" the bartender, a squat, hairy man with a squint, gruffly turned towards the Cleric.
"Ya look a bit outta place here, kid," he eyed Bryston dubiously. "What're ya doin' here?"
"W-Well, I sent a message f-four days ago, about a job and I-I'm here to meet my fellows," Bryston stammered, clearly intimidated by the man's glower.
"The Orc job?" the bartender looked even more dubious. "Ya look like one Orc could do ya in by sittin' on ya, but it's none o' my business." He jabbed a thumb at a table where a mean-looking mercenary and a cool huntress were already sitting. "The party's over there. Good luck, kid,"
"Th-Thanks," Bryston gave a little bow and turned to join the table, despite his better judgement.
"That kid is totally outta place here," Cerys commented, watching the Cleric make his way over to the counter. Reuben gave a snort that was likely agreement. "Wonder what he's doin'?"
"Tch...prob'ly some dumb-ass pilgrimage or some such," the mercenary said, dismissive.
"I dunno, the bartender's pointin' 'im over 'ere," the huntress observed.
"Oh, hell, no!" Reuben grimaced. "Don't tell me we're gonna have ta put up wit' that milk-blooded target of a Cleric on this job!"
"'kay, I won't," Cerys smirked, enjoying his annoyance. Reuben was tempted to clock her with a plate, but thought better of it and just took a deep swig of his ale in an attempt to pacify himself.
"U-Um...excuse me..." the Cleric stuttered. "I-I'm Bryston Cross. A-Are you on th-the Orc job?"
"Yep!" Cerys gave a predatory smile, baring her teeth, which did nothing to placate Bryston. "I'm Cerys Hunter and this's Reuben Nieves," Reuben gave a grunt and a scowl, which was likely as courteous a greeting as one was likely to get from the man. "Have a seat!" She rose from her seat and shoved the poor Cleric down next to the cranky mercenary, nearly causing his quarterstaff to clatter to the floor, before returning to her own seat. Reuben visibly moved further down the bench to avoid contact with the other Human as he scrambled to keep hold of his weapon.
"I hate ta see the other one who applied..." he muttered, tempted to bail on the job there and then. Of course his ego and pride would never allow that, but it was a nice thought at that moment. Cerys shoved another mug of ale towards Bryston but he visibly blanched.
"N-No, thank you. I don't d-drink," he declined. Cerys shrugged and swapped the mug for her empty one.
"Suit yerself," she responded, taking a swig.
This locale is quite different from the precincts and architecture of Magevault. Reuben wouldn't have to wait long, as the fourth member of their party was heading in the door at that moment, head spinning with the sights, sounds, and smells of Oakenrest. This was her first time in a Human city and her curious nature was quite in overdrive at the moment. Ew...this pub could use some Elmjain leaves, though... Alyndra scrunched her elegant nose as the door closed behind her. Her forest green robe, satchel of woven leaves, leather belt embroidered with the pattern of many leaves, pointy leather boots, and, not least, her pointed ears that were slightly taller than Human ears, stood out even more that Bryston had. Upon lowering the hood of her green cloak, her hair was revealed to be black as ebon and to look soft as silk, tied back in a lovely braid that had to take excessive time to create, though it completed the image of Elvish aesthetic refinement in conjunction with her vibrant green eyes. Few Humans saw Elves much anymore, as they tended to keep to themselves and their own kingdom of Tweplund, to the west, and Humans rarely visited that place. The schism was to be expected, though, as both sides had committed atrocities against the other at various points in history. It didn't help that many Humans were unnerved by Elves' tendency to live for one thousand years, give or take a few centuries. Of course, wide-eyed and excited about her first mission as a graduate of the Magevault Magickal Academy, Alyndra wasn't thinking about this at the moment. She disregarded the odd, curious, and hostile mixed looks she got and headed elegantly to the counter. It was fortunate that Oakenrest's citizens weren't quick to jump to hostilities like some would be in more populous or corrupt areas of the Human kingdom.
"Let me guess, the Orc job?" the bartender grumbled, acting as though wiping glasses was a task that required no interruptions.
"Yes, sir. I have journeyed from the southeastern reaches of Tweplund to endeavor on this quest of great import," she stated eloquently. The bartender looked nonplussed before pointing at the same table as before.
"Right over there. The others're here already," he went back to his duties and allowed her to make her way over. "Milk-bloods and Elves, what next..." he muttered after a space.
Reuben glared daggers, with such intensity, at the Elf, as she approached, that Bryston ducked, fearing some sort of ignition from the mercenary's eyes. Cerys looked a bit uneasy, herself. She hadn't seen Reuben like this before. That wasn't annoyance in his eyes. It was borderline hate. This wouldn't end well.
"Greetings," the Elf hailed them once she was close enough, giving a little bow. "I am Alyndra Virnan, apprentice magician and graduate student of the Magevault Magickal Academy. I am honored to be given the opportunity to share in the glory of this mission of goodness and to serve with such worthy adventurers such as yourselves. May I inquire to your identities?"
"Jeez, don't ya ever shut up, Elf wench?" Reuben snapped, finally having enough, and slamming a fist on the table in irritation. "Half those words woulda sufficed and saved us time we ain't got!" Alyndra's face reddened, with embarrassment and anger.
"Just because I am more cultured than yourself does not mean that you may fling such discourtesy my way, Human wretch!" she growled, fists clenched, energy crackling around her fingers. Reuben rose, hand already on his sword hilt.
"Easy, easy!" Cerys shouted, jumping up while Bryston shook and fell out of his seat in an attempt to move aside from a potential battlefield. "Let's not be killin' each other! The Orcs'll do that just fine when we get there!"
"Y-Yes, please turn the other cheek," the Cleric begged, not wishing to see bloodshed. Reuben looked no less hateful, but turned away, with visible effort, posture tense.
"We leave in an hour," he managed to say, though suppressed rage was obvious in his voice. "Meet me at th' north gate," He trudged out of the pub, heedless of the attention that the fight had attracted. Bryston breathed a sigh of relief. Cerys followed suit.
"Sorry 'bout that," the Huntress offered, trying to assuage the still-fuming Elf. "I dunno what's up wit' him," Alyndra frowned before taking the seat that Cerys proffered.
"He obviously severely dislikes the Elven folk, " the mage observed. "I've heard of Humans like that, but to see it in person...But the question is, why? From what I have apperceived, Humans rarely hate Elves, of late, so acutely, barring some sort of deep-seeded reason, save in areas where political or social climate is inclined towards such prejudice. It is far more usual to see discomfort or distrust in these border regions. Does he hail from such locales as inspire dislike of Elven folk?" Cerys was at a loss and shrugged. There was a space of silence.
"Well, anyway, I'm Cerys Hunter," she announced, at length, trying to dispel the awkwardness.
"I'm Bryston Cross," the Cleric offered.
"And he's Reuben Nieves..." Cerys added a bit sheepishly, finishing her ale to fill the uncomfortable silence, after pointing quickly at the pub door. She shoved a remaining mug of ale towards the Elf. Alyndra accepted it but quickly put it down after taking a sip.
"I must say, the beverages of Human hamlets are quite...aberrant, to say the least," she noted. "I've a myriad of drinks that I can recall, from my homeland of Tweplund, that are far more palatable and savory. To each their own, I suppose," she added the last part wistfully.
"Well, guess I've been missin' out," Cerys commented with a grin. "Maybe I'll try some uh those drinks if I'm ever there,"
"S-should we not follow the frightening man to the gate? The hour does not linger," Bryston interjected timidly. Cerys sighed.
"Sure, why not," she rose. "But ya need ta grow some balls, kid," she grabbed his shoulder roughly and gave it a little shake. "Cain't adventure stammerin' all over the place," He smiled weakly.
"I-I'll try,"
The oddly-matched party of mixed race and experience left the pub eager, for various reasons, to get their mutual job over with. Alyndra seemed to have gotten over her little spat with Reuben, at least for the moment, and was admiring the town.
"The structures of these buildings are much dissimilar to Magevault," she went on. "The support beams are utilized using more physics and less magic, as is the wont of Humans, as they lack the magical potency of the Elves. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, as their own style and craft shine through in the superstructure of their domiciles," This was, by no means, the end of her little spiel, but for time's sake, that's all that will be recounted here. She continued on into Elvish construction and their realization that strengthening physics-based superstructure and infrastructure via magic allowed constructions that both defied physics and were quite useful for various other applications. Bryston listened with interest, though some of the diction went over his head at times, whereas Cerys became quickly lost in the lack of vernacular and decided to just focus on where they were going. The north gate wasn't too far from the pub, but it was still a good five minute walk, not helped by the two obvious neophytes acting as though they were on holiday. The huntress sighed.
Guess it cain't be helped. She added in thought. At the very least, the Cleric'll be useful fer healin' up the wounds we'll get...and any Reuben does to us if he snaps. She smirked wryly at the last part of her thought. Cerys looked ahead, coming out of her contemplation, and spotted Reuben leaning against the gatepost ahead, arms crossed. He still looked quite cross, though that was normal enough. Judging by how the gate guards were eyeing him and clutching their hastas, withal, he must have been much more frightening when he had first arrived. "Hey, Reuben! Ready ta have some fun?" she called to him with a wave. He gave her a look that plainly said that he didn't appreciate her buoyancy.
"This's work, Cerys," he warned, face unchanging, though his eyes glinted when he spotted Alyndra in the back of the group. "If ya want games, find some youths ta dally wit',"
"That's what he always says," the huntress shrugged, addressing the whole group. "Well, let's go," She gestured the group out the gate and took the lead. Reuben, grumbling, followed suit, followed by Bryston and then Alyndra, who continued her spiel about architecture for a little while.
The party walked, tramped, stepped, and lightly tread, respectively, down the well-travelled dirt road that lead north from Oakenrest. Convoys frequently used this road to bring goods down from places like Honeyhorn, Westhold, and even Stagdrift on their way to places like Blindshore and Fallmond. Recently, though, Orcs had been using the road to waylay merchants and passersby, taking their things and often kidnapping them to terrible fates if not murdering them outright.
Cerys glanced around, stooping to the ground occasionally, listening and looking for signs of their enemies, though a bit hampered by Alyndra's talking. She creased her brow, in mild irritation, but did her best to sort the din out.
"The trees in this vicinity are quite useful as firewood, when properly dried, as they burn for quite a while compared to your average hardwood," Alyndra had moved on to flora and fauna now. "Those pink blossoms growing by the road are also quite useful, Farlaika the Elves call them, and they can be made into a poultice that can staunch bleeding wounds. Of course, we have a Cleric with us," she nodded at Bryston respectfully. He gave a timid smile in response. "So I doubt that we will require such a poultice, but I possess the knowledge and proficiency to constitute one, so these flowers may prove useful,"
"Can it, Elf doxy, or I'm gonna cut yer throat out!" Reuben snapped, shooting a glare over his shoulder. "We got no time ta pick damned flowers and Orcs might hear yer constant jabberin' on like a pinhead lass on opiates!" Reuben might have noticed Cerys's struggling to use her tracking abilities or maybe he was just fed up with the constant speech, like he said, but Alyndra, naturally, took more than a bit of offense at his insults.
"You are likely a libertine yourself, Human!" she snapped, hands glinting with magic. "I know sell-swords like you! They frequently deceive extrinsic lasses to bed them and then abandon them at the first opportunity! How dare you accuse me of being a-a strumpet!" Reuben spun, sword almost drawn, but Cerys put a hand on his sword arm to belay him.
"Bitch! I'll kill ya fer that! Get off me, Cerys!" he tried to shake the huntress off, but she held firm.
"Please, let's not fight!" Bryston pleaded. "Lord Angelick would not want us to kill each other while we are in fellowship!" Reuben's eyes flashed at the word.
"Fellaship!" he barked. "I'll have no fellaship wit' an Elf! Yer all jus' here so th' killin' gets done faster! I don't need any of ya!" He spun, nearly knocking Cerys to the ground, and set off at a brisk pace. It was quiet for a while.
"Well, if all that shoutin' didn't alert th' Orcs, his walkin' sure will," Cerys shook her head. She could detect his heavy footfalls from quite a distance away. Alyndra glared after him, sorely tempted to put a Magic Missile squarely in his back. She mastered the violent impulse, though, and was silent. Bryston sighed in relief that the conflict was abated.
"C-Cerys? Shouldn't we follow him?" he inquired of the huntress.
"I guess...but he's gonna get ambushed at this rate..." she looked off into the dense trees near the road. "Tell ya what, you two go after 'im and I'll scout out th' area," She ran off towards the tree line, quickly yet quietly. "See ya later!" she was gone quickly.
"She possesses skills nearly on par with many Elvish woodmen I have known," Alyndra noted stiffly, though notably more softly than her previous speech. Perhaps she did realize the danger they were in, finally.
"Really?" Bryston asked as the two continued up the road. "I haven't really left the monastery since childhood, so I'm not really familiar with these things,"
"Oh, yes, there are Elvish woodsmen that are such legendary hunters that they have overcome game that were said to be impossible to hoodwink or defeat, much less bring back," the mage noted, her smile returning and her tone brightening. She continued in this vein for a while, though softly, before Bryston interrupted.
"Say, do you hear that?" he tensed, for the sound he spoke of was that of metal on metal. The sound of combat.
"Yes, would that I had been less voluble, my keen ears likely would have detected the din with greater celerity. Come!" she dashed forth, the Cleric on her tail.
"Come on ya bastards! It's ten on one and ya got the drop on me!" Reuben taunted as he faced down six Orcs, each wielding a jagged and overused falchion with a small handguard and crudely wrapped grip. Four of the green-skinned, black-haired, red-eyed, tattered loin-cloth-wearing humanoids lay dead on the road already, their blackish-red blood staining the ground. Two more Orcs rushed him, swinging their blades in circles, he ducked the first, shearing the wielder's arm off at the elbow, and blocked the second blade with his shield, producing a loud clang. As the weapon bounced off, he quickly countered by hacking the Orc's hand half off, making him drop his blade. The fight culminated in two more quick swipes that beheaded one orc and cut the other in half. The remaining four attacked as this happened, each from a different side. Reuben prepared to perform a difficult maneuver of some kind but two were struck down by Magic Missiles. He took advantage of the confusion this sowed and cut the remaining two up the front of one and down the front of the other. They all slumped over, dead. The mercenary spat on the corpses. "Not even worth my time," He wiped his bloody sword with a dirty rag from his satchel as he turned to the other two that had just arrived.
"Are you hurt?" Bryston asked with genuine worry.
"Are ya kiddin'?" Reuben replied disdainfully. "These chumps're amateurs. I could read their every move," He offered no thanks to Alyndra for potentially saving him one of his limbs or a painful healing session, but, instead, pointed into the trees. "They came from that way. Their cave must be somewhere over there," He set off in the indicated direction, leaving the other two to follow. Alyndra frowned at his lack of gratitude, but decided not to provoke him this time.
I'd rather keep all my limbs...but I'd likely take one of his too. She thought grimly, using her light Elf steps to her advantage while she followed the noisy swordsman. His footsteps echoed loudly in her ears, even now that they were on grass. Well, at the very least, any ambushes will be targeting him first. That's good for me. She possessed some close range spells, and had a dagger on the back of her leather belt, but these required having to be within the range of sharp objects. Reuben's head turned from side to side as he went on ahead. He was no Cerys or much of a woodsman, as expert trackers were often called, but he could still see a cave entrance, hopefully. Bryston glanced nervously around the forest that would have been beautiful at any other time. He was sure that Alyndra was suppressing the urge to talk about it. One thing he knew about Elves was that they adored nature and that went double for woods. Birds chirped in the distance, but not anywhere nearby, which was indicative of their quarry's presence nearby. The leaves rattled gently in the spring breeze and the flowers and tall grasses waved, but she detected no sign of any foe. Suddenly, she heard quiet footsteps, so quiet that she was sure the two Humans with her couldn't hear them. The Elf maiden tensed, a spell ready, but saw there was no need when Cerys emerged from nearby undergrowth a minute later. The Humans of the party jumped, readying themselves, before they relaxed in recognition. Alyndra had already been ready so she showed no such shock.
"The cave's just a quarter mile ahead," the huntress informed them. "There're Orc sentries in the area, walkin' a circular path. We'll have ta be careful not ta let 'em alert their buddies."
"We already took out an ambush party," Reuben stated. "They're gonna be a bit suspicious already, I'm sure,"
"Hmm...explains why more started hangin' out by the cave entrance..." Cerys observed. "Anyway, nothin' to it but ta do it! Come on, folks!"
The party crept on, as much as was possible, anyway, for several minutes. Whether it was because of Cerys's skills or because of sheer luck or chance, they seemed to remain undetected. It became obvious why they had encountered no sentries, though, when they came across an Orc that was strangled in a vine loop trap. Cerys smirked at her small triumph.
"Never said I di'n't set some traps up," she whispered in response to their surprise. Creeping on, the trees ended and a large cave mouth in the side of a hill, shaded by a thick canopy of leaves, became visible to the quartet. Four large Orcs were in front of it. One was sitting and whittling a bone with a knife, two others were pacing impatiently. The fourth was complaining in his own language, or so they assumed. Even Alyndra knew little Orkish, as she didn't really go in for the uncouthness and vulgarity every word in the tongue seemed to exhibit. "Good, they don't got bows," the huntress muttered. "Makes it easier. Reuben, do your thing," He nodded and made to leap from the underbrush. As he did, Cerys released an arrow from hiding, knocking down a pacing Orc. They reacted quickly, rushing for Reuben. A second arrow took out the other Orc that had been pacing as Reuben slashed through the one that had been complaining. The whittler threw his knife in desperation as he leapt up, but the mercenary dodged it as another arrow took care of the remaining opponent. The others emerged from the bushes and came over to Reuben, joining him in looking doubtfully down into the cave as Cerys retrieved three of her twenty arrows. Bryston was obviously scared, but tried to keep it together, though the blanching of his face made this moot. All these strong warriors had to be hurt at some point and, if they were, he would have to heal them quickly. That's what he told himself for motivation, anyway.
"H-How many do you th-think there are?" He directed at Cerys. She shrugged.
"I cen never tell with these guys, but they're just bandits. Prob'ly no more'n ten 'r twenty," she estimated.
"There is no guarantee of how extensive these caves are, withal," Alyndra put in. "It is possible that there exist hundreds that could be ensconced at any location within,"
"Unlikely," Cerys disagreed. "Orcs in them numbers wouldn't bother wit' sparse stealth raids. They'd sack the town,"
"Whatever, let's just get this over wit'," Reuben started down the muddy slope that led into the cave. As they went, the disgusting smell of rotting flesh, filth, and bodily odors met their nostrils, making the greenhorns feel a bit sick. Cerys didn't relish trying to track anything in this stink, but she still scanned the area for clues as they came to the antechamber of sorts at the bottom of the slope. She clutched her bow in readiness as she peered into the gloom. The main source of light was a few guttering torches placed randomly and haphazardly into random makeshift holders. Odd, as Orcs have great night vision, but maybe they still liked mild light, for some reason.
"Sure could use some more light," she murmured, turning to Bryston. "Could you make one?"
"O-Oh...right..." he jolted, surprised at actually being needed for once. He grabbed a random rock off of the floor. "Light!" the rock began to shine like a lamp. Cerys took it and crammed it in a random unlit brazier-based torch, from the floor, for easier holding.
"Seems like they keep to themselves," she observed, slowly walking around the room and observing footprints in the mud, discarded objects, old crusts of moldy bread. "Well, mostly, but there are groups in some places, like this way," she gestured to a nearby passageway. "At least seven have gone this way lately," She wrinkled her nose. "This is likely the way to the kitchen,"
Creeping on, the four came across an Orc that was lounging in the hallway. Reuben quickly silenced it before it noticed what was going on. Bryston was quite unhappy with the killing already, and killing something so dishonorably didn't help his feelings about this whole business. Going on, the kitchen came into view. Unfortunately, these Orcs were fully awake and working and the light of their torch alerted them. The party ducked back into the hallway to avoid a barrage of knives. Two of the Orcs advanced with cleavers while the other three grabbed pans.
"Magic Missile!" Alyndra shot two bullet-shaped shots of iridescent light from her fingertips, with some delay between each, and hit two pan-wielders. Reuben easily deflected and blocked the cleavers, shearing their owners fatally, and Cerys, having thrust the torch at Bryston, feathered the last Orc with an ace shot to the throat.
"Oi, where's me food!" an angry Orc voice shouted from the other room. Oddly enough, it spoke in the Falo tongue. "I'm gonna make a meal outta ya guys if me food ain't here soon!" it barked. The party headed into the other room to see a fat Orc, wearing a bib and loincloth, of disgusting proportions, sitting at a table that was stacked with picked-clean carcasses of various beasts and some unfortunate Humans, licked-clean plates, and some of his fat rolls. The Orc licked at the drippings and gravy smeared around his mouth and glanced at the party, his red eyes glinting under a curtain of greasy black hair. "Who the hell are you! Where's mah dinner?" His gaze caught Alyndra and he drooled sickeningly. "Oh, that one looks kinda tasty," he licked his mouth even more repugnantly.
"Oh, dear Lord," the Elf couldn't help but say as nausea swept through her.
"Come 'ere, little Elfy! I'm gonna eat ya!" the Orc shouted.
"Only in your most insane fantasies, fat-ass!" she retorted, saying the last part in Elvish and holding back vomit.
"I'm bigger than you; I'm higher in th' food chain! Get in my belly! Come on!" he insisted, rising with a cleaver in one hand and a large fork in the other.
"Yes, please help yerself. She won't be missed." Reuben interjected cruelly with a smirk.
"Bastard!" the Elf retorted at the mercenary while firing a blue beam of light at the Orc. "Ray of Frost!" The Orc's flab seemed to work against this and insulate him from the cold, causing the attack to only result in a mild shiver.
"Oh, aye, very clever," he mocked. "Now come 'ere!" He shuffled forward. Cerys hit him with three arrows, staggering him backwards slightly.
"Oh! That stings!" the Orc complained, regaining his footing.
"Magic Missile!" another missile knocked the Orc back further.
"Ya guys suck," Reuben rolled his eyes and advanced. The fat Orc took a mighty swipe with his clever, forcing Reuben to step out of the way. He aimed a counter stroke that would have cut off the Orc's arm, but he managed to pull his arm away in time and aim a stab with his fork.
"Oh, I got yer skills too, sonny Jim!" the Orc taunted, despite the fork bouncing off of Reuben's shield. More arrows planted themselves in the Orc's bulk and another Magic Missile exploded on his shoulder, but he just didn't seem to be affected much.
"Die already, ya dumb son of a bitch!" Reuben shouted in frustration as he continued to trade blows with the loathsome being. He managed a couple of nicks to the Orc's bare chest, though he received the same in kind on his sword arm and face.
"Flare!" Alyndra shouted, finally, in a stroke of brilliance.
"Oh! That's no fair!" the Orc protested as his vision was hampered by a bright light that only appeared in his vision. He missed one of his swipes completely, allowing Reuben to finally skip disarming him and go for a kill. The blinded Orc was cloven halfway through, the strike losing momentum because of his great bulk. The swordsman wrenched the blade free as the Orc fell to the ground with a great enough impact to shake the room and knock a few things over. Reuben thrust the sharpened iron through the flabby skull of the monster, with a satisfying crack and squelch, to ensure his demise.
"Glad that's over," Cerys commented, plucking the arrows, with some effort, that hadn't broken with his calamitous fall back out of the Orc, taking care not to damage them. She managed to salvage enough to have ten left.
"Hmph...well, this guy prob'ly alerted the others, so we'd best be gettin' ready fer round two," Reuben flexed his muscles experimentally, quickly looking his blade over to make sure it hadn't suffered any lasting harm. Sure enough, more Orcs came charging through the door almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Bryston screamed and fell backwards from the sudden close proximity of so many hostile beings while Alyndra took the more practical approach as she turned an Orc's attempt to grab her against him and seized his arm, coating her hands with fire and burning him alive in a terrifying conflagration. This dismayed the foes long enough for her to get back and begin conjuring Magic Missiles while Cerys began firing arrows again. Bryston rolled out of the way as Reuben heedlessly attacked the Orcs in their shock. He cut down three easily, blocking another attack and ducking another before slicing into two more. An Orc that had somehow slipped past the fierce melee grabbed Bryston as he got back up, but he forced it to let go with his ability to inflict minor wounds with touch. He didn't like using his healing powers in reverse, but it got the job done. Cerys shot the Orc as it jumped back from him with a cry.
Soon enough, thirty Orcs lay dead in the dining area.
"Warm work, sure enough," Alyndra panted as the battle came to a close.
"That's why ya make sure ya know what yer in fer afore ya sign up fer an adventure," the Huntress smiled, wiping her blades clean with a dirty cloth and trying to salvage a few arrows from her fallen foes. "Ya think that's all of 'em, Reuben, or do ya wanna check the rest of the place?"
"No and no," he answered. "Let's go," Bryston finished healing everyone's minor injuries, his fingers glowing faintly with a blue light as he ran them over the nicks, cuts, and abrasions, swallowed his nausea, and re-imbued their torch with light before they finally left the gore-filled kitchen area. The corridors were quiet and neither the tracking skills of Cerys or the ears of Alyndra detected any life still remaining in the cave. As it turned out, the other two paths led to dead ends after a little while. One was the very smelly and unappealing barracks for the Orcs.
"Nothin' here but puke-worthy shit," Reuben observed, kicking down a fragile construct that was likely an Orc bed. Bryston flinched at his vulgarity, like he had all day, but said nothing, still shocked from the fierce battle he had just been on the edge of. The other dead end was a storage room. There was food, which they were surprised had escaped the fat Orc, and many things like cloth and jewels that had been taken from their victims.
"That's the lot of them, then," Cerys concluded. "Back ta town for us,"
"Shouldn't we take these things back to the people so that they may find their rightful owners?" Bryston inquired as the party turned to leave.
"Nah, better ta let the townsfolk do it," Reuben grunted. "'Sides, yer scrawny arms could scarce lift most o' this stuff,"
"I s'pose he has a point..." Cerys concurred. "Let's just tell th' barkeep when we get back,"
The quartet were grateful to leave the unpleasant cave. Cerys quickly scouted the area and concluded that her traps had killed all of the patrols. "There's always the odd chance o' one bein' around somewhere but I think we got 'em," Heading back to the road, Alyndra now took the time to enjoy the forest and tell them a bit more of it, though she took care to hang back from Reuben this time. Bryston smiled at this pleasantness after the horrors of the Orc cave, listening to lots of knowledge that he hadn't heard in the monastery. Making it back to the road, they found it cleared. Likely because of passersby moving the corpses out of the way so that they could pass. Taking to the road again, the four headed back towards Oakenrest, thinking that their adventure together was nearly over.
It may not seem like it, but this is basically a campaign comic, just without showing the OOC stuff and, apparently, these guys are really good roleplayers. The DM seems a bit lazy at times, though, as can be seen by the Austin Powers reference in the boss Orc. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and hopefully there will be more soon. Critiques appreciated.
Addendum: A hasta is a roman spear that is relatively short for a spear, or so I believe so it's taking the place of the shortspear.