The Emerald Swordswoman (Ooo, Orcfights)



  • (So aptly titled in honor of SGT Byerly, who constantly follows me around saying "Ooo, trollfights" "Ooo Orcfights" after finding my copy of "The Thousand Orcs in my vehicle)

    The ruins of the town of Kahleese

    Adela stumbled into the ruins of the temple, limping slowly due to the arrow lodged in her left thigh. A wound in her shoulder bled profusely, that one coming from an orcish axe, a blow that had bypassed her plate-mail armor. The entire guard battalion she had been hired into was routed, with the few loyalists remaining taking cover in buildings, waging a hit-and-run battle against the Orcish raiders that had finally decided to raze the village. There were too many for them or her, and help was not expected. Adela fully expected to die here, inside the crumbling cathedral to Torm, surrounded by the bodies of fallen Orcs. She smirked grimly as she propped herself against a pew, and brushed a sweat and blood soaked strand of ebony hair from her eyes, realizing that she would be dying the way she was intended to, as ordained by the shaman of the plainstribe she originally hailed from, the same one she had left almost 20 years earlier, vowing to defy her fate and live a free woman apart from her clan. Funny, the way things worked out. In front of her, the large oaken doors trembles and splintered as the Orcs outside hammered into them. Adela never would claim to understand Orcish logic, though one might wonder why they would spent time and effort smashing into heavy wooden barriers, when they could have just has easily opened the door, as Adela had been too hurried to lock or obstruct the church’s entryway. The swordswoman gripped her longsword with both hands, wincing slightly as her left hand closed about the pommel. A mace had smashed her shield, and crushed a good portion of her hand early in the fight, leaving her with only a suit of damaged plate to protect her from the coming onslaught. Blood dripped from her leg, and from her wrists where her shoulder wound had drained blood down through the arm of her plate mail, but the warrioress simply shrugged it off, her eyes narrowing on the breaking doorway. The smashing continued, until finally the doors broke, flying open to reveal a row of ugly green faces, armed to the teeth. The orcs had breached the cathedral. She counted five of them, each slowly advancing one her, rather than blindly rushing in. Disciplined Orcs, who would have ever imagined? Adela growled angrily as she took a step forward, bringing her blade to bare. “Come, villains! I’ll send you all to Gruumsh!

    With this threat, the Orcish marauders roared, gnashed their teeth, beat their chests, and charged her. Adela caught the one nearest her first, ducking under the deadly spikes of a large morning star, pivoting on the ball of her right foot, and impaled the filthy brute in the center of its torso, the honed steel of her longsword easily pushing past the crude leather and bone armor that the Orc wore. Adela took a step back, hopped on the top of one of the churches pews, and did a forward somersault while grabbing the hilt of the longsword in midair, ripping it out from the monster’s chest cavity. She landed gracefully with her and the Orc back-to-back, and pinned the demihuman to the same pew by pushing backwards while moving a step back. She finished the first one that had reached her by taking her weapon, and stabbing backwards, severing it’s spine. She let the beast slump against the wooden seat, keeping the blade sheathed in its vertebrae as she bent low to fetch it’s fallen morningstar. The next Orc came at her, charging blindly, in a rage brought about by it’s slain comrade. Adela stood quickly, twirling the spiked weapon for five rotations to gain momentum, and let the weapon fly in the direction of the barbaric creature that advanced on her. The spiked ball flew true, and landed dead on Adela’s mark, the Orcs exposed face. The spikes dug deep, undoubtedly biting into the Orc’s nervous system. The beast fell over, twitching even after it had had the ground. The dark-skinned woman executed a sideways roll to avoid another orc’s hammer, and retrieved the blade she had sheathed firmly in her first victim’s spinal column and ribcage. Spinning around to face the newly incapacitated demihuman, she raised her blade, thrust it into the creature’s neck, and twisted. The Orc twitched violently one last time, and was still. Two down, and three to go. Adela snapped her head to the right, hearing a sharp “Twang!”. One of the Orcs was fumbling with a strange looking crossbow, and apparently the bowstring had come loose. She decided to save that one for last, it being the lesser threat. She gave a loud whooping battlecry as she reentered the fray, determined to finish off the pair of marauders that presented the current threat. The first one was armed with a traditional Orcish weapon, the double-axe, while the other carried a large halberd. This, she decided, would be a mite bit tricky. She went for the pikeman first, her blad clanging against the pole arm’s large blade, doing little damage to the weapon, but setting the orc off balance so she could advance, and ultimately impale the brute. And it was this course of action that led the creature to momentarily take the advantage. Adela twirled into the monster, bringing her sword to bear, and forcefully jabbed it into the creatures chest, only to have it clatter to the floor, having been deflected by the beast’s armor. The Orc, having recovered from its daze, caught the lithe fighter in it muscular arms, cutting off her supply of oxygen. Adela sputtered and choked as she kicked against the creature, gasping for air as the axe-toting orc strode up to her, chuckling in the usual low, guttural voice Orcs typically had. It put one of the double-axe’s blades against her neck, and slowly retracted it, preparing to decaptitate the swordswoman. She hear the Orc that held her in the death-grip laughing as well. Despite her fading consiousness, Adela was still able to concentrate what remaining strength she had, waiting for the axe man to swing. When the orc tensed his muscles to let fly, Adela bit roughly into the other’s arm, taking a bit of flesh with her as she pushed out of the grip, having completely surprised the beast. A bigger surprise would come soon after, the Orc’s last surprise. The last thing the creature saw was one of the double-axe’s heads coming at it’s own neck, and it’s owners look of shock as it saw that the human had slipped from the other’s grasp in mid-swing. It was too late to reverse the tremendous momentum that the weapon had been swung with, and it cleaved cleanly through the pikeman’s neck, the look of dismay and anger settling permanently on the severed head.
    Adela sprung up from the ground, grabbing her long sword, while spitting out the vile chunk of orcflesh she had violently bitten out, and took advantage of the axe man’s lack of guard, still shocked by the quickness of the last few actions. Adela went low , dipped under the two axe heads, came up between it’s arms, and stared the beast dead on, her bright emerald eyes meeting with the orc’s dark yellow oculars, and jabbed the blade into it’s chest, holding it there, before twisting it roughly. The Orc bellowed in pain and rage, dropping its weapon, and grapping weakly at the wound, only succeeding in cutting its hands on the warrioress’ own sword. She kicked the monster off her weapon, and turned to face the final Orc, a look of triumphant fire in her eyes. That fire smoldered, however, as she saw the cluster of crossbow bolts flying at her. She sprung, but not fast enough, taking three of the missiles in her right shoulder and arm. She cried out on pain, tears blurring her vision as she recovered from the attack, and stood, taking her sword in her left hand as she used what last bit of strength she had left to charge the archer. Her charge and battlecry were cut short, however, when the beast fired another burst from the crossbow. Through pained eyes, Adela could make out the weapon, and cried in dismay. A repeating crossbow, a weapon usually only carried by elite military or guardians. How this one got into the hands of an Orc, she would most likely never know. The next two bolts impacted soundly in her torso, piercing her plate-mail armor with ease. The fighter fell to the floor, twitching slightly in pain as her form clattered to the tiles of the cathedral. Everything was going black, whoever said something about a light at the end of the tunnel, lied. Looking up, she saw the archer move over her, and knelt upon her form, tossing aside the powerful missile weapon, and retrieved a long, wickedly sharp dagger from it’s belt, the symbol of a single Orcish eye crudely engraved on the hilt. Adela knew the symbol. It was the holy symbol of Gruumsh, god of the Orcish tribes. The beast muttered something in its own tongue, most likely a prayer to the deity, imploring him to reward the humble creature for such a pretty sacrifice. She forced herself to stay conscious, all the while wishing she still could pray to Helm, the deity that she had forsaken so many years ago. Paying attention to the creatures movements, she was ready when it shouted out the last word of the hideous evocation, and plunged the dagger downwards. She moved as quickly as her tortured muscles would allow, and wrapped her gauntleted hands around the blade as it flew towards her heart. She groaned in pain as she pushed upwards, giving a burst of strength that smashes the pommel of the small blade into the Orc’s face, causing little damage, but doing enough pain for her to stumble up, take her sword, and deliver a fatal chop across it’s torso. Swinging as hard as she could in her present situation, the weapon cleaved through the poorly made orcish leather, and cutting deep into the demihuman’s body. Adela’s armor was splattered bythe creatures blood as the blade broke contact with the Orc, and the monster fell over, quite dead. Adela stood there a moment, using her last bit of energy and strength to look about the cathedral, surveying the carnage she had caused. Indeed, she could have done far worse. She had done her duties well, perhaps even exceeding the battalion commander’s expectations he had when he hired the mercenary into the town’s militia. A pity she would never get paid for a job well done. Not that it mattered anymore, really. That was Adela’s last thought, before she went limp, and fell to the floor,