Owen watched Taloc’s Lightning Lord raise two crystal towers in a matter of seconds, feeling as meaningful as an ant before a volcano. Not even a year ago, the half elven child had been in diapers, unable to wield earth magic at all, and now, now he performed feats that would take Owen days, and that was assuming his runic armor was fully charged and worn throughout! But Tufan had raised the towers on a whim! Solo! Then withdrew to play with the weird three eyed cat. It was all too much for Owen to grasp at once, Until the sound of a sword exiting its sheath drew him into the present.

“Let’s talk with the greenskins.” Said Velena, entering her element.

Steel burned the air, smoke mingling with the foul wind of an unmistakably orcish stench—a rank odor mingling with the tart scent of burnt meat and the putrid decay of death. This place, which once echoed with the laughter of simple folk, had been turned into a stronghold of wickedness.

Beside Owen walked Velena, her presence like the comforting heat of a campfire, in the form of a redheaded tornado. Her bright hair fluttered in the wind like a banner of flame, and indeed, flames seemed to dance upon her fingertips, their light casting a fiery glow upon her countenance. Her eyes, burning with righteous anger, mirrored the wrath of the element she commanded. Though she was his junior, her magical might far surpassed his own in battle, for she was twice blessed. A dauntless battlemage with the cunning to match.

Owen felt the land beneath his feet, fertile soil begging to be tilled once more, to be plowed and sewn and worked so that it would bear fruit and fulfil its purpose. Now it murmured of abandonment, except when a human watered it with metallic fluid, and ceased to move. Owen knelt, placing his hand upon the ground, and in that moment, he felt the pulse of the land, a deep, resonant rhythm that spoke of ages past and strength untapped.

“Everyone is at the center of town. Two circles that are separated from each other.” Said Owen, using his earth affinity to detect heartbeats. “Ugh, it looks like a cockfighting ring and a pen of slaves.” Grumbled Owen, standing.

“I could enjoy grilled chicken.” Said Velena, marching into town.

Empty streets and cold hearths greeted them, half the town was abandoned. With rowdy shouts echoing from the town square. Owen’s eyes fell upon the first of them, slouched and careless, with crude weapons held loosely in their filthy hands. Their laughter, a harsh and guttural sound, echoed through the once peaceful streets, mingling with the piteous weeping of townsfolk. The people, the simple folk of this land, were reduced to a state of wretchedness. Beaten and bruised, they huddled like cattle in pens, kneeling or leaning against the walls. While the orcs formed a circle in the middle of town square, cheering as two men traded bare-knuckled blows with one another.

The orcs were staging a cockfight, but with people. A dark thought occured to Owen, the losing rooster in a cockfight goes onto the grill.

“I count twenty of them.”

“Twenty three, there’s a trio inside the manor.” Answered Velena, pointing to what was most likely the mayor’s house.

One of the brawlers lunged forwards, swinging with a wide haymaker. The other farmer ducked, coiled, and struck upward, his blow missing the opponent entirely. Loud boos erupted from the orcs and an orc ‘referee’ ended the fight by clapping the two men. Bouncing their heads together. They crumpled to the dirt, gasping for air.

“Lazy gitz!” Grumbled the ref, bodily picking them up and tossing them into the coral of humans. Owen saw their eyes. Sunken, dark things; hollow with despair. Many lay still, trying to recover from similarly pathetic fistfights.

One of the orcs, a giant who stood a full head above his kin, spotted the paladins. Somehow noticing the crystal gates for the first time. Its eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled deep within its throat. The others turned to follow its gaze, and a silence fell upon them as they recognized new foes. Armored warriors had come. Velena’s hand tightened around her staff, a hardwood rod carved into an octagonal staff and covered with runic engravings, nearly identical to the staff of Avignon. Flames flickered at her fingertips, blazing brighter, as if responding to her fury.

"We are Paladins of Therun Perun Taloc! Free these humans immediately!" she shouted, trying to contain her venom. Owen knew Velena’s temper well, and the restraint she exercised was a testament to her discipline. But hatred burned in her pupils, seeing in the orcs, the same monsters that had sold her to the church as a whore.

“Oi, you wiv da fiery eyes! I like da look o’ dem peepers, real shiny-like! Think I’ll yank ‘em right outta yer skull an’ keep ‘em fer meself! Gonna be real nice, ‘angin’ ‘em on me belt.” Said the tallest orc.

“We tried talking.” Said Owen, smiling the hairline sneer of a warrior about to exercise his professional talents.

A mask that Velena mirrored. Silently they moved together, their first volleys complimenting the other. Velena hit the nearest orc with a fireball, and Owen raised a four foot wall of earth around the human pen, shielding them from the coming battle.

Tall-orc shouted as one of his warriors was engulfed in flames and the score of green body builders charged. None hesitated to join the fight. Like a score of lemmings. Supporting paladins moved to intervene, holy wards appearing around Owen and Velena.

The fire mage ducked under a rampaging orc, leaving the knights templar to answer his blade, she summoned a dozen blazing swords, directing them with her finger to form a spinning arc above her head. Which was conveniently even with orcish throats. Three of the brutes leapt aside, none of them treating the feint with proper respect, while a fourth tested her blades with his, finding the swords to be extremely tangible and fully capable of cleaving his knife and neck in three blows.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Two orcs ducked, bear-crawling towards Velena with open maws. Four-inch incisors gleamed under the light of her roaring flames. Eager to devour the flesh of a powerful opponent. For the orcs valued strength, and Velena was strong.

As was Owen. Four spikes of stone burst from the earth, thrusting into the orcish charge. The first orc slammed shoulder first into a spike, breaking it, yet the collision caused him to tumble, and his forehead found the second point. Forever punching his lights out. While the second orc just died, impaled through the heart with a spike and the spine with a following spike.

No matter how potent, physical ability could never triumph over magic. A truth that was repeated when four orcs met six knights templar, each protected by a holy ward of middling might.

An orc with some kind of chest wrap tried to flatten the paladins with a couch, only for the improvised weapon to shatter against the ward, surprising both combatants. A knight beside the paladin lunged in, thrashing at orcina’s throat. Only to have her catch the blade with her palm, inflicting a bloody wound that failed to break through her phalanges. Which is when she made her fatal error. Distracted by the second knight she’d ignored the first, who thrust his sword into her inner thigh, opening her femoral artery. She staggered backwards, clearing the way for other orc warriors. But within a minute she was dead, her last bites gnashing harmlessly against the air.

Similar scenes played out around them, with six knights templar and six paladins carving through unsupported orcs. Velena claimed the lion’s share, massacring a dozen orcs by her lonesome, while Owen supported the knights, slaying only four, but miring two in mud, and tripping another, allowing the knights to slay the muscular foes.

“Clear!” Called Owen, peaking into the stone shrouded human pen.

“No! Where is the tall one? We can’t let that asshole escape!” Shouted Velena, beheading a prone orc with one of her blazing swords.

“He’s fleeing towards the gate! After him!”

“Protect the Lord!” Screamed Owen, looking up just in time to see the orc leap towards a napping Tufan.

There wasn’t time.

The distance was too great, no magic in any of the magi’s arsenal would stop the assault.

So Karnak cast fist.

The lycanthrope was itching for combat, he could smell the blood, and yearned to test his mettle. His heart thundered at the approach of the only creature he’d ever seen that was larger and more muscular than himself. Yet his place was at Lord Tufan’s side. Exactly where he needed to be. Especially when the orc chieftain tried crushing Liam on his way out.

Karnak leapt, exerting all his strength to propel himself fist-first into the orc’s face, knuckles encountered tusks, bones crunched and teeth shattered. The werewolf blinked in surprise, rolling with their combined momentum in an effort to come out on top. But the orc’s experience triumphed. He pushed back, triggering Karnak to heave with all his might. Then the chieftain relaxed, offering no resistance, a crumple that turned Karnak’s intended twist into two full rotations.

Lycan and orc plowed into the nearest building, a local pub, shaking the sign of a hiccuping goat. Karnak was pinned beneath the larger orc. Trapped between the pub’s stone wall and the orc’s bulk. A green fist rocketed into his snout, pounding his head against the compacted earth. Karnak tried to roll but his hips were pinned by the orc’s bulk, practically engulfing him in a wall of muscle. Impotent rage made his soul burn, not even as a slave had he felt so foolishly weak, so incompetent.

Another punch connected with Karnak’s chin, knocking him backwards. In a flash the ork hoisted him into the air, holding a blade to the lycan’s throat.

“Not anotha inch, or fluffy ‘ere gets it.” Growled the tall orc.

Most paladins froze, not wanting to be the cause of one of their own dying. But Velena was careful, precise, as only a master of fire could be, for flames always sought to gain control, to rampage unleashed. Her blazing swords clustered together, combining until three of them remained, two behind her and one in front. She advanced on the orc, sheathing her steel blade and holding her staff loosely in a free hand.

“We might think you’re foolish, but I see the way your men fought. With savagery and directness, as if your warband has done this before. If we let you leave, you’ll cut his throat. So why shouldn’t we kill you here and now? I could send my blades through you both, pin you to that hiccuping goat. Your skull would be quite the decoration for a bar.” Offered Velena, aiming her three flaming greatswords.

Tall orc’s brows knitted together, the orc understanding her words and agreeing with them, though he had some tiny shred of self preservation pushing him forward.

“Shuddup.” He growled., taking a step backwards and dragging Karnak with him.

Velena matched his pace, taking one identical step to him.

Tall orc took another step backwards, and this time every paladin mirrored Velena, stepping forward.

“Cheeky cunts the lot of yous.” growled the orc.

They repeated their matched steps until Tufan Biliam Alhusam’s voice stirred.

“This is a farce. Velena, stop. Karnak, you wish to be my bodyguard and protector. That is the goal that earned your place. Think carefully, if another were to free you from his grasp,” Liam turned to stare into Karnak’s pupils, “would you be able to endure the shame? Or are you the champion Thaddeus promised me?”

“That’s terribly harsh–” Began Owen, interrupted by a raised elvish hand.

“Orc, we will not pursue you. Begone, and do not trouble these lands again.” Ordered Liam.

The tallest orc blinked once. Surprised by the sudden boon. A smile spread across his wide face. Laughter boomed through the town, the last sound the orc made before draggin Karnak out of town, beyond the crystal gates. None of the paladins spoke until the orc cleared the gate, disappearing into the low woods beyond.

“We must go after him! You can’t mean to leave him to his fate!” Cried Owen, taking the reins to the nearest wagon.

“That’s enough Owen. Karnak knew the wager. If I intervene now he’ll never be the champion we both need.” Liam sighed deeply, “It took him six months to land a blow on Thaddeus. That’s not good enough. Not in all that time did he level up. This is Karnak’s last chance, he must succeed on his own merits, or die now, when only his life hangs in the balance.” Liam balled his hands into fists, grinding them against the wagon’s wood. “I feared something like this would happen in Greenwood, and, to be honest, I’m glad the question is asked now, before any of our lives depend on the champion’s performance. Before we entrust our lives to him holding a bridge or a gate. Damnit! He must be able to fight alone! To kill a single orc! He must free himself, or understand he was never worthy of accompanying us. Start fortifying the town, and heal the humans. Start with Felix’s parents, we reward those who risked everything to save the others. Then move on to anyone who can fight.” Said Liam.

“Fight? But we’ve won.” Said Owen.

In way of answer, Liam looked to Velena.

“This was only the first battle. There will be more.” She answered.