-Took you long enough. – Kord greeted him. – There it is. Quite the sight, isn’t it?

--Below them, there was a pit, and the muddy ground was clear of roots. At the center of the pit, in the shadows of the groves, there was indeed a hulking creature with dark fur, stained with blood. It was even larger than the hunting party’s mounts; two or three times as large. It paced in circles, waving its massive tusks in a threatening fashion. Its back was lined with powerful muscles, and five javelins were sticking out of it. One was lodged in its snout, two were at the top of its neck, and the rest were just above, where its shoulder blades might be. The monstrous boar had nowhere to go, as the knight’s hunting party had surrounded it.

Kord pointed at the slave, and then pointed at the boar – Puffy, sic ‘em!

--The slave looked at Kord, then he looked at the boar, then back at Kord. The King was frustrated with his hesitation. Puffy waved his empty hands in a questioning gesture, but the King’s expression turned to stone. Seeing as he didn’t have much choice, the slave slowly descended into the pit. He stumbled slightly, as he traversed the last bit of gnarly roots, and put his bruised foot down into the cold mud. It felt good on his skin, but offered little in the way of support. He could see himself slipping in his mind’s eye, and the quadruped trampling him. He swallowed, uneasily, and lowered his center of balance. The boar, bloodied and breathing heavily, seemed to have noticed him. It stared him down with a deadly sheen in its eye. It waved its jagged tusks at Puffy, snorting and screeching at him with its deep, harrowing voice. For a moment, Puffy considered whether the boar and the Orks could understand each other, as the sounds it made were not too different from their language. He was unable to dwell on this idea though, as the boar lined up its charge. The two of them pounced into action. Hooves pounded across the muddy floor, and the slave’s bare feet stomped towards them.

--Why was he doing this, again?

--The mud made him slow on his feet, as he tried to move out of the boar’s way and wrap his arms around its huge, fat neck. The boar however, had other intentions as it smashed into his gut with its tusks, knocking him aside. He landed some 5 meters away, hitting a tree with his back. The world went spinning, and then turned black.

***

--He awoke. The air was moist and cold. It was night time, or perhaps morning. He recognized the straw bedding beneath his back, chaffing him. He was back in his cage, inside his tent. He surveyed his surroundings, illuminated by the flickering light of torches. Above him was the red haired Myzrael and a rickety, old, Orkish medicine-man, wearing a ceremonial headdress. They were laying herbs onto the stitches on his gut.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

-It would be a shame for you to die now, that you’ve learned what it means to be truly strong. – Myzrael told him.

-What? – His head was pounding.

-To be truly strong… Is to choose your time.

-Enough of that. You are quite lucky to be alive, you know. – The medicine-man interrupted her, smiling as he puffed his pipe with one hand and padded the herbs onto Puffy’s belly with the other. – And quite fortunate indeed, that young Myzrael here went out of her way, to ask for help. For you. If you are lucky, perhaps she will one day ask something of you. No one asks quite as devotedly as she does. – The old Ork sneered disgustingly.

-Enough of you, Byblos. Get out! – Myzrael ushered the medicine-man out of the tent. – At last. I have you to myself.

--As the medicine-man left, Myzrael straddled Puffy and took off the piece of leather which served as her dress. Puffy couldn’t move. And even if he could, he would not have wanted to. Her lean stomach twisted, as she removed his loincloth and began to play with him. Her hand felt deft on his skin, and she rubbed her pelvis against him. They began to sweat, and her scent intoxicated him. She lifted her hips off of his, and positioned him below her, preparing to sit down, onto him.

***

--He awoke. The air was moist and cold. It was night time, or perhaps morning. He recognized the straw bedding beneath his back, chaffing him. He was back in his cage, inside his tent. He surveyed his surroundings, illuminated by the flickering light of torches. Above him was the red haired Myzrael and a rickety, old, Orkish medicine-man, wearing a ceremonial headdress. They were laying herbs onto the stitches on his gut.

--Myzrael spoke to him, and her words seemed oddly familiar.

-What? – He asked, as his head was pounding.

-To be truly strong… Is to choose your time. – Myzrael finished her point.

--Then, the medicine-man and Myzrael argued for a bit, and she chased him out. Just as she did, a booming voice could be heard outside.

-Puffy! Here.

--It was the voice of none other than Kord, the Ork King. He was summoning his pet slave. But why? With some effort, Puffy stood up, and stumbled out of the tent. He saw a crowd of Orks, glaring at him with disapproval, and Kord in front of them. A two-handed sword lay on the ground between them.

-You have disappointed me, Puffy. On this hunt, I’ve seen your true worth. And it is about time that we were done with this. Pick up your sword!

--Puffy felt compelled, and thus obliged. He picked up the greatsword that lay in the dirt. As soon as he did, Kord, clad in his obsidian black armor, drew the blue-tinged, runed two-hander that was strapped on his back, and it crackled with lightning. Puffy swung at him a few times, but his efforts were deflected with ease by the Ork King.

--And just like that, in one swing, it was done. Puffy didn’t realize this at first. He was confused, because the world spun around him. Finally, once his vision settled, he could see a headless, muscled human body from behind. It was limp, plummeting down, wearing a loincloth, greatsword in hand. And in front of it was Kord, his runed two hander’s blade covered in blood.

--Who did the King slay?

--Puffy tried to move forward, but he could not see his arms before him. Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel his body either. “Oh…” He thought. He understood now. The King had won the duel.