"Queens and commoners, princes and peasants, welcome to the party of the quincentury!"
For most people, receiving an invitation to the White King's Masquerade is an honor. Even attempting to attend is a chance to go down in history. But for Sol of M...
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It was uncomfortably silent.
The type of quiet that's just a filler, like the calm before the storm. The type of quiet that lets you know something horrific is about to happen.
That was what I thought as we slipped through the unoccupied cobblestone streets of the Lost City.
Now, as we stood, surrounded by cackling orcs on every side, I realized I should have appreciated the silence.
The orcs advanced, swinging clubs and maces savagely. I stabbed one in the thigh, pushing it backwards and sending it crashing into three other orcs. They screeched, struggling to their feet as I turned to fend off another orc. It held an iron club in its purple hands and screamed as I pulled my sword down, slicing those hands clean off.
I felt a gentle breeze as I saw a horde of orcs swept up in the air and thrown to the side, crashing into an elegant stone tower.
Way to go River, I thought, smiling grimly as I stabbed another orc in the stomach. One swung it's club into my leg, causing my knees to buckle and throb with pain. I left it without feet.
I continued to pierce and skewer orcs, laughing as I saw Odelyn shoot daggers at them and Ele tear at them with dragon claws. We had the upper hand, and were cutting down the orc ranks with an experienced ease.
No one is dying today, I thought, as I knocked a spear out of one's grip, definitely not by the hands of an orc.
I saw the sky darken as lighting struck, frying orcs, leaving them sizzling and screeching. Pelias stabbed an orc in the back and Syrion kicked one in the chest, sending it sprawling to the ground before Makeda stuck a dagger into it's stomach.
I smiled, breathing hard, as I wiped the sweat of my forehead, taking in the decimated horde. We were had gotten better at murdering and maiming. I am still not sure how that realization made me feel.
"For Fyn," I announced, raising my bloody sword.
"And Aester's left arm," I added, as an afterthought.
"For Fyn and Aester's left arm!" the others chorused, grinning.
I was sheathing my sword when a flicker of movement caught my eye.
Makeda knelt, lacing her boots as Crow stood perched on her shoulder, but behind her an orc with a deep gash across its chest pulled itself up and raised it's spear.
There was no time to warn her.
The orc brought down its spear just as River pushed Makeda out of the way and thrust his curved blade forward.
I let out a breath as the orc slumped down and Makeda scrambled to her feet.
Then I saw the growing red stain, spreading across River's back, and the spear jutting out of it.
