The lack of spilled black blood from the killing wound helped me immeasurably. Anyone looking for their friend would see only the foal's and assume the brute had taken the meal somewhere more private. Or at least I hoped that was how it looked. I dragged the corpse into an empty stall and covered it with loose straw. Leaving through the rear, I merged with the shadows again. The homes and barn gave way to stores keeping ploughs and other farming equipment out of the rain. In all, the village comprised about thirty buildings of varying size around a central square. Picking the darkest path, I slunk closer to the raucous activity. What I spied peering around the corner of a small home will forever haunt me. Two dozen weeping villagers bound by chains to thick posts near the well. The splayed ends of the stakes indicated they had been recently hammered into the ground. A row of fires burned, the meat being turned on the spits above had once been the family of the captives. It was hard enough to see the adult sized forms sizzling as they cooked. The smaller one… Well, let’s just say I made a vow there and then to commit genocide on the orcish race so absolute that it would make the gods take notice.

There were nine other raiders and the big orc himself; Snaglak. This lumbering hulk wasn’t famished at all. His gut was as massive as the rest of his muscular body. The status bars on every enemy was set to Drunk, minus the unconsciousness. My best bet was to wait until they drank themselves into a coma and then cut their throats. To my horror, I wasn’t that squeamish about the brutality I was considering.

“Dese fings make good eatin’!” Snaglak grunted, biting down on a leg.

“Dere ale’s aright an’ all!” replied one of the raiders.

“What we gonna do wiv da rest of ‘em, boss?”

“Bleed ‘em an’ cook ‘em. We take da meat back to Klog an’ ‘e makes me a warboss.”

“Wha’ ‘bout us?”

“You gets to take da new boys raidin’. I gets a cut a da loot you find.”

A merciless cheer went up as the bound villagers begged for mercy.

“Shut it, you lot, or I bleeds ya slow like I did yer wee one!” Snaglak bellowed.

Even without looking directly, I could see the blackened husk of the child slowly being turned. At that point I hated as I’d never hated before. A tingle started in my toes that burst into a tempest of fury by the time it touched my heart. I equipped the flail, activated my rat swarm on the other side of the table, and strode out into the firelight. The chitter-shriek of my rats as they scurried from their magical realm drew the attention of the orcs. Two of the raiders that went to investigate were buried in fur and snapping teeth immediately.

“Git ‘um!” Snaglak roared.

It took me twelve paces to get within striking distance. I wound my arm up on thirteen, and repaying every ounce of pain suffered by the child, I swung on the fourteenth. The glowing skull seemed eager as it arced over my head. With a resounding clang, the dome of Snaglak’s horned helmet sunk inwards and his eyes burst from their sockets with wet pops. The slain leader crumpled to the ground like an invisible giant had stomped him flat. I took advantage of the chaos to kill the distracted orc at his side with a looping sideswipe that bent his neck at a ninety degree angle with an awful crunch of crumbling vertebrae. My rats were being stomped by the bleeding raiders, but the plucky rodents had taken three down for their trouble.

“Watch out, you divs!” cried the cook, gesturing at me. He knocked the small body from its mount in his haste to draw the wicked looking iron sword.

I ignored the cries of anger and jumped up onto the table as the orcs finally noticed me. Running its full length, I knocked plates and goblets flying into startled faces. Reaching the end, I leaped at the butcher, flail following. My aim was off, and I only caught him with a glancing blow that shattered his sword arm.

“Run, boys!” yelled one of the other orcs as he tried to throw off the scrabbling vermin.

I ignored the frantic flight of the remaining raiders. My attention was reserved solely for the filthy fuck that was slowly backing away from me.

“You’re not going anywhere. If you run, I’ll bleed you slow.” If it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me.

His fearful red eyes darted around, looking for support that was already long gone. I kicked the fallen sword towards him. “You can die here and now, or you can answer my questions and maybe survive the night,” I lied.

“You promise?”

“Choose!” I screamed, making the creature fall to the ground in a snivelling, snot dripping heap. I had more important things to do than guard him, so I smashed his left knee to powder. His cries echoed out into the dark land, giving motivation to his compatriots to pick up their pace. Over seventy percent of his health pool remained, so I didn’t fear losing him to the damage.

“Move to where I can see you. If you so much as look at me funny I’ll burn you alive.”

I think he replied. I didn’t care. My attention was turned to the infant lying half in, and half out of the fire. I looked anywhere but at the body as I pulled the carcass free. I couldn’t do anything for the adults by myself, so I pulled out my dagger and headed for the villagers. They cowered as I approached, the pervasive terror of the day’s events overwhelming any sense of gratitude.

“Can you please get the… the others down. I need to concentrate.”

I left them glancing at one another fearfully, massaging their abraded wrists.

Kneeling at the charred body, I strived to breathe through my mouth. The sickly sweet tang of burned flesh still caught in the back of my throat, but I ignored it and unfurled my second, and last, resurrection scroll. I carefully cut the rope which was secured tightly to the wooden spit and peeled the severed strands away one by one, leaving the grotesque body free. The blackened crust still leaked boiling fats as I placed my hand on it. I ignored the pain and read the words.

“Ara Vero Zuulo Mer.”

Once again, the paper crumbled and I sat back and crossed my legs, waiting. The once hesitant villagers were letting their grief bleed through as they gently lowered the bodies of their kin. Their sobs broke my heart too. In the back of my mind, I knew that my haste to save the foal had stolen the chance of another human. I’d been like a child on Christmas Day; so keen to try my new toys that I appreciated none of them. I’d given no thought to the long term ramifications of my decisions and now a life was forfeit. The child’s wasn’t, though. A faint whimper escaped the burned lips. Over the wails of the villagers I heard a crackle that reminded me of when I’d once fallen through thin ice. I could still remember the feeling of a thousand tiny needles stabbing me from head to toe. I didn’t want to disturb the process, but when the whimper became a shrill whine of fear, I dove right in. The burned shell of her face broke away, revealing new, unharmed, baby pink skin beneath. With care, I removed pieces of the rictus twisted mask and bright green eyes blinked out at me.

“Hey,” I said as the girl extricated herself with a great heave, like she was shucking of a chrysalis and emerging as a butterfly. Her brittle prison crumbled, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. I swapped out my shirt and covered her with it. The onlookers gasped in shock.

“Sorcerer!” one blurted, backing away.

“I’m not a sorcerer. I’m just a normal guy.”

They continued to back away, heedless of my protests. The girl, no older than eight, slipped my baggy shirt on and stood up. Its black fabric covered her to the scrawny ankles. I couldn’t imagine what she had been through in the hours before I arrived. Her eyes switched between me, the fragments of her rebirth, and the firepit she had been mounted on. I was expecting hysterics. What I got was even more natural when I thought about it.

“I want my mother.”

I looked around at the villagers. “A little help?”

“We haven’t… seen Magda… since the attack,” sobbed one of the women. Tears flowed freely as she knelt at one of the other bodies.

I could see the question in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I only had one scroll.”

Her chest hitched as she choked back the crushing resignation. She collected herself and wiped at her cheeks. “Then you are a sorcerer.”

“I’m really not. At least I don’t think so. I received the scroll as a prize.”

“A prize? For what?”

I motioned at the carnage. “Fighting monsters.”

“Oh.”

I turned back to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Astrid.”

“That’s a lovely name. I’m Mark.” I held out my hand and she frowned without shaking it. Ok, different worlds. Different customs. Got it.

“Astrid!” came a shrill cry from the darkness. Moments later a blonde woman came tearing out of the alley, her feet and dress caked in wet mud.

“Mother!” Astrid shrieked, running to her. They met in a flurry of kisses and loving words.

I turned back to the grieving woman. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

She looked over my shoulder at the reunited family and smiled wistfully through her tears. “You have, Mark.” Grief pushed out everything else and she returned to her sorrow.

“I was so worried! What happened to you?” gasped Magda.

Astrid looked towards me. “I can’t remember.”

“Why are you wearing that strange dress?”

“This nice man gave it to me,” Astrid replied, pointing at me. “I lost my clothes.”

Her mother was aghast. “The orcs, they didn’t…”

“No, mother.”

“Thank the heavens.”

“It wasn’t the heavens that saved us,” said the grieving woman.

“It was our incredibly brave friend here,” said a new voice.

I turned my attention to the man. He was anywhere between forty and sixty. The type of life led by these people was unforgiving. I offered my hand instinctively without thinking. Recognition bloomed in his smiling face and he clasped my hand firmly. “Well met, friend. We are in your debt. Might I ask your name?”

“I’m Mark.”

“And where do you hail from? You don’t seem like a local.”

“I’m from Brighton. It’s… a long way away.”

“Mark from Brite’On, eh? Well, I’m Romund, formerly of Peacehaven, but I think we’ll be moving on now. Would you care to take a drink with me while my friends gather themselves.”

“Sure. Lead on.”

He was a stoic man, but I could see the pain as he walked past the grieving, huddled farmers. His home was a modest affair and I nodded graciously as he led me inside and offered a seat at the table. Popping the cork on a green bottle, he poured a measure into a wooden mug and offered me some.

“No, thank you.”

“I know it’s not the best time, I just want to steady my nerves.”

“Was your family among the… departed?”

“No. My wife passed away giving birth to our child many years ago.”

He didn’t elaborate on the fate of the baby and I didn’t press any further. “What happened? Were you not prepared?”

“The local marshal assured us that we had weeks until the full force of Gutrender’s army reached us. He didn’t mention the raiding parties.”

I grew furious at the casual way this marshal had left the farmers to the whims of bloodthirsty monsters. “If it’s gotten so bad, why haven’t you already fled? You’re defenceless here!”

“It was by the order of Dawnstar himself. All available hands were to keep working the fields until the last possible moment. Our harvests are vital to the coming sieges. Without enough grain and provisions, the fortresses beyond the wall will fall to starvation before a single arrow is fired.”

I wasn’t fond of Mr Dawnstar already. “Why didn’t he give you some protection? Some soldiers? Anything?”

“A lack of manpower. Many thousands fell at the foot of Whitespear Mountain when the Grand Marshal tried to hold the goblin army back. Their technology was overwhelming and the battle was over within a few hours. Those that could, fell back to nearby garrisons and citadels which in turn fell to the green hordes. Are you familiar with our land?”

I recollected the world map and its upside down horseshoe shape. “I am. Vaguely.”

“Gutrender made a point of ignoring our greatest seats of power in the east. Instead, his armies wiped out everything on the western peninsula. That included the majority of the realm’s farmland. It’s hard enough to fight a war when you’re fully fed. Add starvation into the mix and it’s a recipe for defeat. We knew the dangers of holding out, but at least our sacrifice will ensure many tonnes of grain that wouldn’t otherwise have been grown will help to shore up the larders of our castles.”

“That’s a noble thing to do. I don’t envy you the decision. What happens now?”

“We bury our dead and pack up our things. It’s a two day march to the nearest garrison. From there we can pick up an armed escort to take us through the wall.”

“The wall?”

“When the court’s sorcerers started to feel a growing presence in the old caverns below Whitespear, expeditions were sent to investigate. The Grand Marshal’s intuition told him that something was gravely amiss and he began construction of a fortification sealing the eastern kingdom from the north and west. If he hadn’t done so, the wall would be nowhere near completion and utterly useless. When the truth revealed itself and he marched to war, the incredible barrier was almost finished. It might prove our only hope of holding the greenskins back long enough to gather our strength and fight back.”

This was no three roomed, two tiered trial. This was a full on war for an entire civilisation. I suddenly felt very small as I sat there with Romund. What on earth was one man supposed to do in a situation like that? The door burst open, and with it, my answer.

“Romund! The orcs are coming back! They’ve got reinforcements!”

“How long do we have, Wynstan?”

“Pieter saw their torches in the distance. Half an hour, maybe less.”

Romund slammed his fist into the table, knocking the mug and bottle flying. “That’s not enough time to load the wagons. They’d be on us before we got a mile out of town.”

“How many?”

“At least fifteen if you count the torches, maybe more if some aren’t carrying. It looks like the ones that you scared off came across another raiding party.”

My mind raced as both men looked to me for guidance. I wanted to tell them I wasn’t their man, but I literally was. This was my entire purpose for being here. Being a natural loner, I could’ve probably scurried to another area and laid low while the world fell around me. Two things stopped me. One; I might’ve been an arse at times, but I wasn’t that much of an arse. And two; my observers would likely frown on my choice to hide out and hope for the best. I noticed my Quest log was glowing fiercely to get my attention and opened it.

Quest Completed – Save the Villagers

Reward - Basic crafting box (bronze)

+ 10 Reputation with Dawnstar Alliance

There were two more available.

Quest – Save the Villagers (Part 2)

Description – With Snaglak slain, assist the survivors in reaching Pitchhollow Garrison.

Reward – 50 Silver Coins

+ 10 reputation with Dawnstar Alliance

Quest – Hold Back the Tide (optional)

Description – Defeat the remnants of Snaglak’s party and the reinforcements to allow the villagers to gather the grain before leaving.

Reward – 100 Silver Coins

+ 10 Realm Points

+ 20 reputation with Dawnstar Alliance

I’d seen nothing relating to realm points before. The optional quest was heavily weighted to encourage a suicidal moron to chance it. I was that suicidal moron. “I’ll meet them before they get here and buy you some time.”

“There are too many, Mark!”

“I’ll do what I can, and if needs be I’ll try and lure them away. The food you’ll be providing is vital.”

“Can we help in any way?”

“Just hurry. I hate to even say this, but your friends may have to wait until later for their burials. If I fail, the rest of the orcs won’t take long to get here.”

“We could wrap them and take them with us?” offered Wynstan.

“Lords preserve us. What dark times these are when we can’t even gain respite to bury our dead,” Romund growled. “So be it. We’ll treat them as if they were royalty and carry them to their final resting place.”

I jumped from my seat and made for the door.

“Fare thee well, Mark of Brite’On. Return to us safely.”

“I’ll do my best.”