Ogres.
Simple creatures who can make things complicated. Two days into the first leg of our journey back, the stink from their sweat ravaged the camping ground that Tharkas carefully selected for us. In a day's run, we would consume the paltry food that was provided. That is why ogres are simple and complicated at the same time. A small village can be fed for the food of a single ogre and a whole nation for an army of ogres.
Seated aside from the rest of the revelling goblin sappers, I briefly flirted with the idea of liberating the ogre rock hurlers. But then the pride dwelling face of Maapu crossed my sight. His single-mindedness, simplistic outlook and most of all -- his unidirectional intelligence with an artistic alignment for killing, culminated in him challenging difficult opponents. In the following days to come; as he awakens more to his hobgoblin nature, he would continue to summon more adversaries, and challenge them. Ultimately, evolving into a hobgoblin champion; perhaps even a hobgoblin warlord. Or meeting his early demise.
At the moment, he held the reins over the goblin sapper and the ogre rock hurlers. And he seemed content with it; even pleased with his feat. I could not bear to disappoint Maapu. I could not undermine his efforts.
“Dark Mistress, May I have a word?” said Theko eloquently. He has learned to form simple sentences.
I urged him to continue.
“Ogre eat a lot,” he started by pointing the obvious first, “what goes in must come out.”
Additional task. Dig latrines for a band of twenty ogres on the move.
This is a logistic nightmare. Salvation appeared in the form of Lyria.
“I will get some of the sappers to start digging,” She tussled my unkempt hair before she scurried away; with a barely concealed anxious smile.
Eventually, she returned; slowly trudged toward me with a coy smile. She has been different the past few days. When she came back to rescue us from Aram and his cohorts, she held resentment; but not towards me. After meeting with Celerim, Lyria was different. She is quick to please me; beaming her pristine smile. Especially when I questioned about Delyn and Celerim. If I were any less experienced, I would have been oblivious to her attempts -- to seduce me. I will drop a few hints and enjoy her bumbling. After all, I did bear a century of loneliness; a few days, she should endure.
Lyria returned to my side.
Her callous hands slowly brushed the falling lock of hair on my shoulders.
“Rils,” she called after a bit of trepidation.
“Is there an issue?” I asked.
“You watched me fight the Storm Lord, so do you have a plan formulated?” She asked.
“The Storm Lord has the strength of a behemoth. Urganza cannot keep blocking and delivering blows back. Only certain defeat lies in that direction,” I gave my candid opinion, “The Storm Lord is battle-hardened. In fact, she could strike a thousand times and I would be surprised if she could land a lucky blow.”
“But fortune smiles on her this time, for the Storm Lord, has chinks in his armour,” I added.
Lyria’s voice lowered to a sudden whisper and with a brilliant twinkle in her eyes, she urged me, “I knew you would come up with something.”
“His cleaves are wide-angled. Too broad for a duel. Probably due to the fact that he was unchallenged for a while. Or he fought mostly as a vanguard against multiple opponents. After he swings his Warhammer, there is a narrow gap. A short duration. Urganza needs to strike him fast.”
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“But such short strikes are rarely fatal,” uttered Lyria with concern. She knew well that neither of the warriors would yield on superficial wounds. The winner of the duel will be decided with the death of the other.
“There is a second quirk. This is most likely due to his injury from hunting the mamoth. Either he never recovered or he subconsciously refrains straining those muscles,” Lyria edged closer to me as I spoke, ”He avoids overhead swings. Even when he attempted to bring down the Warhammer on you, his motions were less fluid than during the rest of the fight.”
“How will this knowledge help Urganza?” asked Lyria. Her scent -- sweat mingled with something redolent and musky -- slowly embraced me.
“He avoids both performing and blocking overhead swings. Instead of blocking those upper blows, he closes the gap to counter. Two overhead swings performed in quick succession with a narrow dodge between them will definitely connect,” I explained while enjoying her fragrance.
“The first swing to force him to perform the counter-attack, then narrowly turn to dodge and perform the real fatal swing,” exclaimed Lyria. Finally, exhilarated with her comprehension, she nudged closer.
“Now that we worked out the attack pattern, here is where you come in.” Lyria’s ears perked up.
“Urganza needs a weapon. A weapon that can make swift strikes but must be two-handed. Lacerations from dual-wields will not deter the Storm Lord. The cut needs to be severe enough to rend muscles and arteries for the Storm Lord will adapt to a prolonged fight.”
She held the expression; the sort she has when she stares deep into the fires in her furnace -- an intense ruminating expression. I love watching her when she has one of these moments.
Lyria finally broke the spell of concentration that she cast upon herself.
“I do not think a single weapon will meet all the requirements. The urumi would work but you deemed it as not viable. An orc double-bladed axe might work but since the opponent is the Storm Lord, there is no advantage in a weapon where the opponent has higher proficiency.”
I slowly drowned in her calm voice.
“A two-handed flamberge could make deep cuts but a dire flail will be far more efficient with two successive overhead swings,” she concluded.
“Lyria, that is the solution,” I said with a wicked grin as I edged closer towards her, “She could bring two weapons to the duel. After all, armour in the duel is frowned upon by the orcs, but multiple weapon proficiency earns more respect..”
“Urganza should start the duel with the dire flail, stagger the Storm Lord with a few hits and then, switch to the two-handed flamberge. A single well placed cut to the artery will guarantee her the victory.”
“Rils, once we reach her, I will set about smiting those two weapons. I take it that you will train her with the moves.” Lyria half suggested and half questioned.
“Before I could come up with a precise training, answer me this. Did you hold back during your duel with the Storm Lord?” I grabbed her arm and looked deep into her eyes.
“I did,” she answered apologetically.
“But if you fought with all your might,” My grip around her arm tightened, “In earnest-”
“In earnest--” she repeated my words as she tried to wriggle her arm away. Finding my grip firm and my stern gaze, Lyria abandoned her desperate attempt.
“In earnest, the Storm Lord would not draw breath,” a roguish gleam appeared in her eyes as she caressed; drawing small circles on my arm with her fingers. Her touch, sending shivers down my spine, loosened my grip on her arms. Lyria did not stop. She grew bolder. Her callous fingers slowly dropped towards my palm.
How can someone with such rough hands still caress so tenderly? Like a wild untamed horse, my mind refused to yield -- to my orders.
Facing very little resistance, Lyria pried open my palms and gingerly traced curves. With vivid concentration and an intense gaze, she continued caressing.
“Lyria, I need to know. How strong are you?” I forcefully uttered the words out of my defiant mouth.
Lyria pushed her lips over mine. Her luscious lips teased mine for a brief moment before her eager tongue attempted to separate my already willing lips. Our tongues danced with each other, exchanging secret embraces that only lovers knew. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me closer. I felt her warmth and it made my heart race faster than ever before. I knew I wanted this but when it happened, it was sudden. I was unprepared. I wanted to ask her questions; instead only a pleasure-filled moan escaped.
Then she pulled back.
“There is a famed general of the drows, feared and ferocious. If you must know, I could take her breath away in an instance. That is how strong I am,” said Lyria with a wicked grin. Then she scuttled away, leaving me alone with a stupid, bewitched expression.
Eventually, Taltil, who came later to consult me on some unimportant issue, asked.
“Grand Mistress, you look like a cat that got the cream. Did something happen?”
“Today was a good day,” was all that I could say.