The Path of the Adventurer

Chapter 8

Screams and wails sounded far in the distance. Erion stopped instantly.

"Erion, what is it?" Asked Magon.

"Listen..." Said Erion. "Something's not right." Up ahead, he saw three elves running toward them. Two were female, one was male. "Whoa there, stop! What's going on?!"

"O-Orcs!" Screamed one of the female elves. "The orcs are in Casthor causing mayhem as we speak! Sorry to cut this short, but we have to run!" The elves immediately darted away, screaming in terror.

Erion tensed. "Why..." He said under his breath.

"I should've expected they'd attack Casthor sooner or later!" Said Norder.

Tikana began to run. "Hell yeah, I'm ready! TIME TO KILL SOME ORCS!" Norder then pulled her back. "Hey! Let go!" Tikana screamed, squirming.

"We must make haste immediately!" Magon stated. "Erion, show us the way!"

"Okay!" Erion said. "Let's go!"

***

"Archers, to arms! Execute the witch!" Rith stood high upon his keep's balcony, flanked by several of his bodyguards. The town was filled with orc corpses and a few elven corpses. In its place was a peculiar witch. The witch was a young woman that resembled an elf, yet with icy blue skin and silver hair. She held an obsidian rod with a gleaming ruby on the tip. Rith shot an arrow toward the witch, aiming for her head.

"Skjol!" Bellowed the witch, blocking the arrow with a red magical shield.

As the elves rushed inside their houses and tree-houses for cover, the local elven archers attempted to load the witch with countless volleys of arrows, only for the arrows to bounce off the witch's barriers. One group of archers tried to fire arrows at the witch. The witch shouted "Skjol!", and the four arrows bounced off the force field and onto the ground. The witch held back her staff. "Knus!" With a thrust of her staff, a concussive explosion of noise knocked the elves down, leaving them dead.

***

The company darted down the path leading to the forest town of Casthor. The trees rushed by before their eyes as they exerted themselves in speed to make it to Casthor in time. Suddenly as they were running, until a towering figure stood in the way, blocking the path.

"Uh-oh..." Erion said.

This figure was a seven-foot-tall orc. He was wearing half-plate silver armor and two gauntlets with sharp glaive-like blades attached to them. The silver armor covered his chest and shoulders, and there was a pelt tunic underneath. He wore steel greaves on his legs and leather sandals on his feet. The orc had long black hair reaching his shoulders, and he had a bronze ring in his nose. The points of his tusk-like teeth were inches below his eyes. He looked directly at Erion.

"An elf? Well, well, well! The bird has come flying back to his nest, I see!" The orc growled to Erion. His voice was terrible and brutish; his mouth revealed rows of sharp, dirty, yellow teeth when he spoke.

"Are you the one responsible this mayhem?!" Inquired Norder.

"Isn't it obvious?" The orc grunted. "I'll never know what it means to surrender, nor would I ever care to do so! What matters most is the situation at hand - YOUR DEATH!"

"Bastard!" Norder cursed. He dismounted his horse. "Ranger, hide!" Ranger immediately darted away. For the sake of his friends, Norder intensely charged and delivered two powerful slashes. Blocking the blows with his gauntlets, the orc merely stumbled backwards. The orc retaliated and ravaged Norder back with his mighty bladed gauntlets. Norder winced, leaving small rips in his mail.