Drovic smiled ear to ear with a book before him. Then he paused, looking out the broken window. The creature was a monster not seen before; it was a creation of old dark magic. That was the best that Drovic could figure as he saw the beast from the comfort of the inn’s upper levels. Drovic was sitting back into a soft padded chair, with ale in one hand and bread in the next. Resting next to him was what was necessary. The old book resting before him was priceless in his eyes.

His joy was shorted lived when he drank with success. The creature was almost as tall as a two-story home. It was just a hair shorter than the watchtower. From Drovic’s vantage point, he could see that it was clothed in a mix of animal hides and maybe a few from some humanoid creatures.

Its shoulders were as broad as a bar-room table from end to end. It had a boar-like face with two spear-length tusks protruding from its lower lip; a dark mane ran from the top of its’ head and trailed down its back, taking the shape of a mohawk. From what Drovic could see, it did not carry any weapon. His guess was the creature’s fists could be more deadly than any paladin’s hammer. Drovic laughed to himself, “Of course! Just when I find a bloody clue. Which god’s breakfast did I piss in today?”

The beast looked like some weird breed of troll that mated with a boar and mountain giant at once. That was when Drovic figured out the direction in which the creature headed. It was heading straight for the merchant hall and townsfolk.

Looking out, “Should I go play hero?”

Drovic took hold of the tankard of ale and down the rest. This beast had to be controlled. It was simply too mindless Drovic judge. He had to find the handler that was controlling this boar monster. Without a handler, they might be able to win.

He still needed these people. They held some answers about their past. “There must be a local mage controlling the wrath of this mindless boar giant,” Drovic spat out.

Slipping the book he had stolen from the Storyteller into his hidden pocket, he jumped out the window and then up to the roof. He was silent as a whisper, the shadow noted.

As Drovic traversed the rooftops and neared the edge of the down, he saw that the beast had just crushed the nearest watchtower. A wave of arrows from the woods slammed into the merchant hall’s walls. The archers from the town folk fired feverishly at the beast to no avail.

The orc taskmaster kicked the goblin archers to fire faster. It said something along the lines: “He will eat them alive if they do not kill the humans faster.” This feverish drive allowed Drovic to slip back into the woods under cover of the half-moon. That was when things started to go wrong. Drovic ran face to face with an orc patrol.

“Brutes!”

They were covered in razor-sharp plates and turned their whole bodies into living swords. Scars covered their faces from past battles. Their plate armour was stained with the blood of their previous unlucky victims. Drovic had no time to think. His training kicked in, and a dagger was already in his hand. The bladed darted from the shadows in which he was taking cover. The blade planted straight into the eye of a brute as if it was a sprout breaking through the spring soil.

Then the next closest orc had a chance to see him, warning the others, “We got company, fellas!” It almost seems filled with joy. The death of a comrade did not bother it. The dagger was pulled free and returned to Drovic’s welcoming hand in a flash. Speed was his friend, their armour made them unstoppable, but it also made them slow.

The remaining orcs charged at Drovic with a blood-burning rage. They desired to maul this slender man into a blood paste under their boots. The sharpened metal spikes on their plate reflected the moonlight’s rays, like a beautiful tranquil lake if you would ignore the screaming.

The orc brutes closed in on Drovic. With a quick dive, he slipped under the orc’s monstrous frame; as he slid underneath the brute, his daggers pinged and bounced off the creature’s armoured body. Drovic, with the last flip of his hand, the blade’s edge found a soft spot behind the back of the leg.

Drovic smiled, then laughed, “At least lady luck loves me,” the cut open a vein. Blood gushed out, and Drovic was covered from head to toe in the orc brute’s lifeblood. “Bloody hell, fellas, it looks like I made a waterfall,” the mocking tone sent the other brutes into a rage never seen before. The wounded brute stumbles forward and falls to the ground. He was unable to close his hand around the wound. The orc’s protection became his coffin.

Drovic, for a second thought, heard a child laugh mixed into the remaining orcs’ screams.

The blind rage worked in Drovic’s favour. He jumped into the air, grabbing a tree. The charging brutes were unable to stop in time. The last two brutes crashed into the tree below Drovic with an indomitable force: the brutes split the tree trunk. To Drovic’s astonishment, the tree he was holding began to fall. “What do you know, a tree does make a sound,” Drovic snickered at his own joke.

The tree sent a reverberating sound of crackling timber out into the woods. Drovic hoped that the beast was making so much noise that no one would come searching for the sound. He did not have much time to think of that, “Right, you guys are still here.” Looking down as he sailed into the air. He still had two very dangerous brutes to deal with.

The one brute started to laugh with joy. He reached down and began to pick up the corpse of his fallen comrade; his muscles bulged with the effort of the weight. The orc bent his knees, and with an almost unnatural force, the bladed corpse flew straight at Drovic. There was virtually no time for him to react. Before he could think, Drovic’s body took over. He dived to the ground and rolled to his left. Drovic used all his effort to push himself into a squatting stance after his split-second life-saving roll.

The corpse landed in bone-snapping flop inches behind the nimble rogue. “That was not good. I know I can do better. Enough,” Drovic cursed.

“Little human, you think?! You think you can take down strong Jeffery!”

“Wait, your name is Jeffery?”

The other brute was already upon him. A fist landed on Drovic’s chest and slammed him off balance. He knew he had to act fast or be just another corpse: this was not his first battle. Using the force from the blow, he let it push him back and rolled to his feet. At the same time, he was letting fly daggers. Drovic was aiming for the creature’s mocking smile. It was a blind shot, but he had to try something.

The dagger landed true, “Damn, you guys are my lucky charm. Jeffery!” It was only good luck that Drovic had after arriving in this small town.

The dagger went hilt deep as it slammed into the cheek of the orc’s mocking smile. It was effortlessly passing through the hard green skin. The magical blade cut off the brute’s tongue before Drovic used its magic to call it back. The magic caused the edge to pass through the other side of the brute’s face.

Shock. A simple word, but that was what the brute was feeling. The brute braced his head, and the blood poured through his teeth. Then a piece of dead flesh was spat out of the orc’s mouth. The shock had one upside; looking at his tongue, something snapped in his mind. He charged one last time toward Drovic.

The brute was thinking, or planning, that Drovic would try to run again and was unprepared for what was about to happen.

The leap of faith, Drovic remembered that Sarah had named this manoeuvre, and it is a fundamental act action. You jumped forward towards the enemy as it charged and trusted in your training. The light-footed rogue jumped straight into the air. Again he grabbed hold of a tree branch, inches from missing it.

Drovic kicked out with his feet as Jeffery passed below him. His foot landed home with a loud crackle, Drovic empowering his hit with mana. The foot laned behind the brute’s head, and the force pushed Jeffery’s bloody face forward.

Following the leap of faith, Drovic transitioned into a rolling dive toward the remaining armoured brute. His hands snapped forward, both daggers flying undeviating towards the creature’s shocked face. The remaining two foes fall to the ground in a drenching mess of crimson.

Slowly rising to his feet, Drovic felt the sharp pain in his shoulder. He quickly checks the damage: a dark purple already forming. “Am I just getting sloppy?” Doing a quick spell before the injury could slow him down.

Drovic quickly found the trail the orc brutes left behind. These creatures were taking orders from someone, and he was going to find out who, muttering to himself, “Bastard is going to pay.”