“Looks, those bastards have Princess.”
Scanning the orc party, I see a muscular blond woman with huge breasts being dragged out. Two orcs have her by the arms and are frog-marching her toward the Black Orc's throne. Despite struggling like a wild animal, she can't even slow them down.
*Is that the nasty bitch that runs The Amazons?* Ahlred usually doesn't pay much attention to who is who.
*That big blonde giving you a chubby?* Wihtred has an eager look on his face. He's probably looking for something to blunt the images of the torture we just forced ourselves to watch, and he never passes up a chance to possibly needle someone.
Ahlred hawks up a huge mouthful for phlegm and spits it over the wall. *I'm not into man-hating cunts that think I should kiss their feet. Had a run in with her a few years back, and I was never sure who she was.*
*A few years? Damn, are you dead? Even in this body, I could work up a boner to titty-fuck that bitch. If you stick something in her mouth so she can't talk, she's damn good looking. I hear that if you like getting the shit beat out of you by a woman, when she's done, she'll hogtie you and ride you like a dildo.*
*So that's what you're into. You should ask her to put a collar on you.*
*Fuck off!*
Despite what's happening, it takes real effort to keep my frown in place. Ahlred is one of the few that can torque off Wihtred without seeming to try.
When the orcs with Princess drag her in front of the Black Orc, he stands up while stroking his dick. At some point during the torture, he took off the lower half of his armor, but I never noticed.
“ZUG! ZUG! ZUG! ZUG! ZUG!”
Zug is the orc god of fuck. For an orc, fuck can be anything from consensual sex to rape, but it's mostly rape. There probably isn't a single orc dialect that has a proper term for consensual sex; the closest thing would be hitting a bitch only two or three times before mounting her.
*Fuck! Is that a dick or a baseball bat. He'd make John Holmes turn green with envy.*
*You're showing your age.*
Wihtred stares at Ahlred like he's examining something unnatural. *You're older than I am.*
*I'm not ashamed of my age.*
After staring at Ahlred for a few seconds, Wihtred pretends to ignore him.
“ZUG! ZUG! ZUG! ZUG! ZUG!” The orcs' chanting gets louder.
The Black Orc grabs Princess by the hair and jams his already hard dick into her mouth. Well, it's only about four or five inches that go in, less than a quarter of the thing.
*I knew that bitch had a big mouth but damn!* Ahlred's smirk is venomous, and the light in his eyes is pure murderous intent. Whether it's for the Black Orc or Princess, that's anybody's guess. It's quite likely for both of them. Ahlred holds grudges.
Princess spasms violently, and fluid sprays out around the Black Orc's dick, spattering its legs and torso armor.
*Did she just puke on him?* Wihtred's eyes are wide open in shock.
*That orc is going to hurt her really bad.*
For a few seconds, the Black Orc just stares at Princess, then its face twists into a mask of pure rage. The force of its slap slams Princess into the ground, and her body actually bounces close to a foot back into the air, before slumping limply on the coarse sand.
When the Black Orc tears a whip off the weapons girdle laying on its throne and starts lashing Princess, her screams echo off the ridge. While howling like a damned soul, she tries to crawl toward our wall, but the brutal strikes of the whip keep flattening her on the beach. Her back turns into a patchwork of raw meat and white bone. Blood splatters twenty feet in all directions.
After her agonized howls die out and she stops moving, the Black Orc picks her up by her blood drenched hair and throws her belly down on a rock that's about waist high for him. As he starts raping her, she struggles vainly reaching toward our wall.
Except for the sound of some of the people standing watch puking, there isn't anything other than faint sounds of breathing from the people on the wall. They've seen brutality in the past twelve years, but this kind of offhanded destruction and abuse of a person goes beyond anything most of them have ever encountered.
When the Black Orc finishes, other orcs start taking turns, and by the third, Princess isn't even twitching.
*Is she dead?* I have a feeling she is.
*Yeah. I didn't like that cunt, but it's a worse ending than even she deserved.* Ahlred has an uncanny knack for knowing when something is dead or alive.
“Why didn't you save them?” Kamehameha's voice is unsteady, and his face still has vomit spatters on it. He wasn't one of the sentries, but he still must have watched it all.
I force myself to not sigh. “There are too many orcs, too many prisoners, and too few of us. There's nothing we could've done.”
Ahlred glares at Kamehameha. “There was a time I would have been stupid enough to rush out and try to save them. Now, I know better. I won't try to save people who would try to have me jailed for not giving them the special privileges they think they're owed.”
Kamehameha looks like we just destroyed his world. “You're supposed to be heroes. Heroes don't let people die like that.”
Ahlred turns his back on Kamehameha. “Heroes? We're not fucking heroes. We never were. We're just soldiers and sailors that didn't get killed when we were sent to war. There's no such thing as fucking heroes. It's a bullshit fucking lie that politicians and other scum tell you to make you willing to die for them.”
Kamehameha shakes his head. “No. You're wrong. Heroes are real. You're fucking wrong!”
The clatter of his metal shod boots fades as he runs down the ramp and disappears into the camps.
“He's still a fucking kid. Doesn't matter that he's been in the middle of this bullshit for ten years. He still hasn't grown up. Kids shouldn't have to see this kind of fucking shit.” Ahlred's tone is vicious. The rage he's barely suppressing is audible in every word.
None of us reply to him.
The Third Day
The Great Fuck Over Day 4,183
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The drums start pounding again before dawn.
Crackle-boom!
Thunder temporarily drowns out the drums, as lightning illuminates the undersides of the heavy storm clouds overhead. The heavy rain makes it so we can't even see the orc camp or the scene of their torture party.
I'm surprised the attack has been this long in coming. I have been waiting on top of this wall since the orcs finished their torture games. With this storm, the orcs could have reached the wall and possibly overrun us before we could respond. That Black Orc doesn't want to just defeat and capture us. He wants to break us.
I turn to the nearest sentry. “Call up our forces. The orcs are attacking.”
The sentry's face pales, and he activates his whisper charm. He's probably calling Connor.
*The orcs are preparing to attack.* I spend the message in the party channel that I'm in with the other Dvergar.
Faint vibrations reach my feet through the stone wall. The marching feet of the advancing orc is enough to shake the ground. With my Dvergar eyes, I see the uneven ranks of the orcs long before the humans around me do. There are five rows of warriors, and behind them, there is a line of shamans.
Connor reaches the top of the wall and stands next to me.
*Their sixth rank is a pack shamans. There are enough of them to make something closer to three ranks, but there is no order to them.* I use a whisper charm. Connor is no longer in a party with us Dvergar.
Connor glances at me. He knows that Dvergar eyes are better than human eyes, but he doesn't know just how much better.
*What can we expect from these shamans.* Connor yawns and rubs his eyes. His mannerisms say that he's bored.
I shrug. *Not much different from inside the Labyrinth in terms of spells. Orcs tend to like elemental and weather type magic. The big difference will be the amount of Power they can shove into their spells. Expect these shaman to be ca
sting spells two or three times as strong as what you'd face inside the Labyrinth.*
Connor is stretching out his muscles in a relaxed manner. *That's not good.*
I snort. *It could be a lot worse. It'll be very good if they don't pull out any wildcard spells. The nubs are in no condition mentally to be dealing with too many surprises. That fucking orc's show last night has put the fear of Zug in them.*
Connor looks at me with one eyebrow slightly raised. *If that's supposed to be a joke, it's not particularly funny.*
*Wihtred would have laughed.*
*Wihtred's a fucking lunatic. The only bigger nut job I've ever met in my entire life is Ahlred.*
*Yeah. Ahlred's got a few issues to work out.*
*A few? It would take a supply division a month to haul all his issues.*
Connor narrows his eyes and stares at me. *Asshole. This is no time for stupid jokes!*
*You feeling a bit less tense?*
*Fuck you. Thank you.*
Connor walks off and starts talking to some of the players on the wall.
“I see them!”
The shout raises the tension levels of the players through the roof. Nearly everyone watching tightly grips the hilts and haft of weapons or wands and staves meant to focus Power or hold embedded spell formations.
Appearing from the darkness and curtains of rain, the five ranks of orc warriors advance toward our wall. Behind them, the loose clusters of shamans follow. Within the large gap behind the shamans, the Black Orc is carried on his massive obsidian throne. The faces of the massively muscled orcs on whose shoulders the throne is borne, are filled with fierce pride.
“WARDS UP!” Connor's bellow is clearly audible from the cliff to the sea, and certainly, is heard by the advancing orcs.
Though the orcs probably cannot understand the words, they find out the meaning of them in seconds. All along the wall, a variety of wards are erected. Depending on the natures and disciplines of the Casters, the types of ward vary markedly in their natures. Among them, there are walls of force; shields of wind, lightning, and fire; walls and webs of light and darkness.
At a gesture from the Black Orc, one of the orcs walking next to his throne bellows a command. I recognize what should be the Orcish word for use, but none of the rest of it. Their dialect is radically different from the ones my body learned in the Battleground of the Damned.
The orc shamans begin to chant and dance. Some of them make ritual incisions on various parts of their bodies, drawing blood. A couple starts raping slaves with symbols tattooed on their bodies. One of them starts masturbating. Despite the seemingly insane casting rituals and slow casting, shamanic magic is nothing to laugh at.
Over a few minutes, one after the next, wards spring up over and in front of the ranks of orc warriors. Made up of earth, wind, water and fire, each is equal to or stronger than the strongest ones put up by our Casters.
The already cowed players are visibly shaken seeing the birth of those wards. Most are looking around, as though they're searching for some way to escape. Some are even shaking in their boots. Only here and there are a few visible who seem unaffected by the scene, as they quietly watch the orcs below.
“Har har har. Look at that fucking orc with the puny little pecker. He just did five ugly chicks, and all he got was that crappy little wind wall.” Wihtred is slapping his thigh with one hand while pointing at one of the orc shamans that was raping slaves.
“He must be a soldier.” Ahlred's tone sounds nasty, but he's probably in a good mood.
Wihtred stares at Ahlred with an evil expression. “A needle dick bitch like him wouldn't make it in the fucking Army. That orc's an ass-fucking squid.”
“You should know if that orc is an ass-fucker. Scuttlebutt has it you always dropped the soap in the showers. I'll let you watch while I cut the dick off your future shower buddy down there and stuff down his throat before cutting his head off.”
“That orc's mine.”
Cwichelm glances around at the surrounding players. “You two better not let Thorrin get to him first. Now that he's picked up Talon's habit of kicking them in the balls, you two won't have much to cut off.”
“Shut it, gyrene.”
“Fuck off, leatherneck.”
The players nearest us are staring. Some have their mouths hanging open as the stare at Ahlred and Wihtred in confusion. One thing about all of them is that they no longer seem quite so scared.
Ahlred immediately turns back to Wihtred. “So that orc's yours. You gonna whisper sweet nothings in his ear while giving him the reach around.”
“Coming from a shit eater who took long fucking tropical cruises on ships full of nothing but swinging fucking dicks, your scuttlebutt ain't worth an orc's farts.”
A few of the watching players have started laughing.
“You sound jealous, but we had women on those cruises. Why do you the navy let women in? They're there to give us swinging dicks some pussy on those long cruises.”
“Hey, you sexist bastard what kind of fucking sexual harassment bullshit are you spewing now?” The one screaming is a pretty good looking woman in armor. She's got one hell of rack under that armor too. That's just the way Wihtred likes them, the bigger the tits the better. I know I've seen her around, but I can't remember her name. I may have never learned it to begin with.
Ahlred glances over his shoulder at the woman. “Life support for a pussy. Don't get killed, after this battle, there will be plenty of swinging dicks looking for a wet hole.”
Almost every male player in hearing range is either laughing or smirking. The few that aren't probably aren't worth much in a fight, to begin with.
“What the fuck? You fucking bastard you should be in jail for saying things like that. No, I'm going to make sure you go to jail once we get out of this shit.” As she screeches The woman stalks over and jabs her finger toward Ahlred with each word.
Wihtred's smirk would make the Cheshire Cat green with envy. He flexes his muscles stretching his vest to the limit. Like usual, he's not wearing any armor, so he can show off his tattoos and piercings better.
“Hey, baby doll. You can chill out. I'll let you ride my pole when we get a little break in the fighting. Look at how thick my body is, and you can imagine how thick my pole is.”
The woman involuntarily glances down at his groin, with a speculative look in her eyes. Seeing her action, most everyone nearby, male and female alike, breaks out in roaring laughter.
Her skin flushed and her eyes gleaming with rage, the woman glares at Wihtred. “You asshole! I'll make sure you rot in jail along with your friend.”
Ahlred's single harsh bark or a laugh cut through the air. “There isn't a single social camera here. By its own laws, without social camera footage, the government can't persecute you. Get a clue about where we are, bitch.”
Danleib loudly clears his throat and points toward the orcs. “We have some orcs to kill, and there are plenty for everyone to get their share of orc dicks and balls for trophies. You three can get together later for your little orgy.”
The laughter isn't quite as natural as people turn toward the oncoming orcs, but a lot the near terror has been dispelled.
*Sometimes, I don't know what to make of you two.*
*The faggots needed something to break through that Black Orcs little mind games. That orc piece of shit is too smart by half.* Ahlred glares down at the Black Orc on his obsidian throne.
A few minutes later, with a barked command from one of the orcs attending the Black Orc, ranks of orc archers advance from behind the throne. A horn blows and thousands of arrows are launched toward our wall. As the arrows take flight, the orc shamans begin to cast new spells.
“FIRE!” Connor's voice booms out once again, not requiring any Power amplification to be heard clearly across the battlefield.
The martial players begin shooting bows and crossbows, hoping to find a hole or chink in the wards. The Casters begin to launch their spells in an attempt t
o break the wards. Between our wall and the advancing orc horde, the sky lights up with a show of magical pyrotechnics that rivals a late twentieth century or early twenty-first century Earth battlefield.
With the existence of wards, the only purpose of the exchange of missile and spell fire is to make sure that the other side doesn't stick their noses out from inside the wards. Under the cover of their wards, the orcs reach the foot of the walls. Armed with mauls that have heads bigger than quarter kegs of beer, they begin to pound on the stone at the bottom of the wall.
We can't afford to keep up this kind of an exchange for too long a time, but we can't back off, or the orcs will have free rein to do what they want. The orcs doubtlessly have more shamans in reserve than we have combat level spell Casters, so we'll ultimately lose a battle of attrition, but the longer we drag it out the better.
Cwichelm looks over the edge or the parapet. “That's a trick I haven't seen from orcs before.”
“Too bad we don't have a lot of oil. Would could give them an early Christmas present.” A wistful expression on Ahlred's face almost makes me lose my frown.
“Let me through! Make way!” One of the firebugs, a big burly redheaded man pushes his way toward the battlements from on of the staging platforms. A huge staff, a foot taller than the man, thumps on the stone in time to his steps.
“Who the fuck is that?” Wihtred is giving the man his evil eye, the one that means he's probably going to start trouble.
“Leave him alone. He's one of the biggest pyromaniacs you'll ever meet. Calls himself Fizban.” Danleib watches the man with a half-smirk on his lips.
“Fizban? Why does that sound fucking familiar.” Wihtred narrows his eyes.
“Old fantasy novels. A few years older than you, I think.”
The Survivors Part 1: The Masacre Page 7