CHAPTER TWO

Me and my purple hyena, Joker.

I found him on the burning steppes of Diagoraniaszia. Near the Volcano Portal of Remorz. A hop, skip, and a jump from Grogden Gardens. A couple of miles away from the Hermon Lakes of Gold. A good day’s march from the Silver Apple Valley. Not too far from the Fortress of Imperial Pleasures. Right underneath the cloud city of Vesperanza.

He’d been wandering the steppes for most of his life. Just being a normal, average, every day purple hyena when all of a sudden, four orcs from the Legion of Dakroth, riding to the small human village of Dirk near the Bloodmist River, saw him, noticed he was purple and decided to kill him. Just for the fuck of it. Orcs, ya know. They like to kill shit.

They surrounded the animal. Ugly, sharp, yellow teeth, dripping with acidic saliva, sneered into smiles. Looking at each other in satisfaction. Intimidating and frightening the poor creature who was no match for four orcs from the Legion. They slowly unsheathed their weapons, revelling in the fear the hyena was showing, enjoying every second.

Then, all of a sudden, like lightning, one of the four orcs, his head blew up. His body stood there, headless for a few seconds, then fell limp to the ground.

The three remaining orcs quickly turned around confused, attempting to figure out what had made their comrades head explode. Their beady red eyes darted every which way they could think of to find a clue, any clue, before another one of their heads blew up unexpectedly.

That’s when they found me standing on a hill, 100 yards up wind.

“Dwarf!” they angrily yelled.

Yup. That’s me. Brigg McGruff. Dwarf hunter. Ass kicker extraordinaire.

I’d been tracking them since they left their makeshift stronghold in the Southern Higlands. The mayor of the village of Dirk offered me 50 gold pieces to take down these four orcs. Specifically the one named, Crackhead. Crackhead stole a family ornament from the mayor who wanted it back. He promised me an extra 50 gold and a recipe for magic running boots if I would bring, Crackheads head to him.

Looked like I was out of 50 extra gold pieces and a nice enchant for my boots.

The remaining three orcs screamed out a guttural  battlecry and charged towards me.

I pumped my rifle once. Click. Aimed at the biggest one, the orc wearing red plate mail, the warrior. The one wearing black leather and carrying two identical daggers disappeared into thin air. Great, I thought to myself. A rogue. The last one, the one wearing grey chain mail, started chanting an incantation and violet-colored mist evaporated from his weapon. A damned shaman.

Eight seconds away from contact.

I took aim at the big orc in red plate. At his knees. BANG! He fell to the ground, releasing an ugly scream. Then, just as quickly as he went down, he stood right back up and began limping towards me. The very next nano-second, I chanted my own magical incantation timing it perfectly with the next shot of my rifle. The bullet turned a glowing, bright blue, infused with the magic I had learned in the wilderness, seered through the thick red metal he wore and exploded inside the armor. His eyes shut tightly in pain, blood soon trickled from his grimacing mouth. Fucking orcs. He kept coming.

By this time, a total of four seconds, the orc in grey chain mail, charging at me full speed, leaving a misty trail of violet behind him, lifted his warhammer high above his head, intending to crush my tiny, little dwarven skull. I kept my aim on the orc in red plate, took one step back, and smiled.

BING!

Just as the orc in grey chain was about to bludgeon my head, a rush of cold air flew out of the ground where his pivot foot landed, encircled him in freezing mists, and in half of a split second, encased him in a block of magical ice. I laughed out loud, and fired off another blast from my rifle, damaging the orc in red further. Damn that fucking orc. He still wouldn’t go down.

Calculating how many more seconds it would take the limping and injured orc in red plate to reach me, out of my pouch I pulled a tiny red marble and threw it on the ground. More magic I learned from the wilds. As soon as the marble hits the ground, a transluscent dome of pink surrounded me within a 15 foot radius. I took aim for the orc in red plate again, one last shot before he reached me. Got to make this count.

Just then I heard a buzzing.

Out of the corner of my eye, entering the transluscent pink dome, i saw the orc in black leather attempting to sneak up behind me. Daggers drawn, thinking himself still invisible, unaware of the work of my red marbles magic, about to stab me the fuck up.

Damn. I had to choose. One of them was going to hit me. I wasn’t going to have enough time to deal with the both of them. And i still had to contend with the orc in green as soon as the magic ice trap faded. Yup. This was going to hurt…

I gritted my teeth, waited for the inevitable rusted steel to enter my old, worn, dwarven body, just not knowing which, the sword or the daggers, would hurt less. Fuck it, I decided. Kill the warrior. Get sliced up by the rogue.

BANG! I shot the orc in red plate squarely in the chest. He fell face first into the dirt. His hand went limp, weapon slipped out of his crusty fingers. Another kill for, Brigg McGruff.

Then I felt the butt of a dagger hit my temple. He struck the nerve. I couldn’t move a single muscle. I was completely helpless. I was, literally, stunned from head to toe. And that’s when the lightning quick onslaught began. Stab, stab, stab, and more stab. Steel rapidly entered and left my body. On my shoulder. My lower back. Near my kidney. My thigh. My other shoulder. Blood didn’t even have time to trickle from the first wound before his fourth stab entered my body.

I fell to the ground. Lifeless. Dead…

Explore posts in the same categories: Normal, California