Orcii.

Something I've been writing over the past day, and still working on.

This story revolves around two Orcish brothers who were abandoned at birth, after their mother's home and town was ruthlessly burned to the ground by an Elven army. It involves their struggle to survive and get work.

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3. The Archmage.

The Archmage’s vision returned, with force. It was like an arrow had hit the back of his mind as he lifted his talon-like hands from the globe. This particular globe, stood upon a mantle in a stand, shaped in the form of claws. The memories of those who he had callously slain swirled like a brutal, turbulent storm inside of it. He used the globe to an advantage, to spy, mainly. The two Orcish brothers were completely unaware that the very man, who had destroyed their birthplace and ordered the killing of the townsfolk, had been watching their every move. They were completely unaware that the man, who had been watching them, was the very man who ordered a death warrant on their mother. The Archmage became displeased when people escaped his grip. His hold over the realm had become increasingly stronger by the day. To give you an example of just how ruthless this man is-He ordered a servant to be hung until dead for preparing his dinner incorrectly. The man who was hung was only 20 years of age. The Archmage sat upon his gilded throne, thinking anxiously about the threat the two brothers posed to him. He heard the thoughts that were arising in Huygen’s mind.

The Archmage will pay for this, I swear it to you, mother.’

‘I will avenge your death, whether Marog likes it or not.’

‘Bah, no longer will I dwindle on these thoughts,’ He mumbled to himself. ‘Grub, make yourself useful!’ A small, withered elf half-heartedly pulled himself round the corner and stood to attention.

‘Don’t just stand there you pompous fool, come here!’ the Archmage demanded. Grub walked weakly towards him-He was covered in bruises, cuts and all other kinds of injuries. He served only the Archmage loyally, and was abused countless times.

‘Get me a drink, or you’ll find yourself hanging like my last servant,’ He said, spitting in Grub’s face.

‘Of course, my lord,’ he replied quickly. He ran, and disappeared round the corner. The Archmage could hear the clinging and clanging of various different glasses and cutlery, and started becoming impatient. Suddenly, Grub appeared, out of breath, but with the drink the Archmage had requested. He bowed and handed it to him. He pressed the edge of the glass to his lips, and took a swig of the beverage. He noticed a distinct tang to the drink and realised what Grub had planned.

‘Thought you could do it, did you Grub?’ the Archmage said spitting the drink out.

‘I don’t know what you mean, my lord, I brought you a drink as you instructed.’ He replied, now looking scared. The Archmage’s face scrunched up like paper and turned red as quickly as he threw the glass to the floor. Shards of gleaming glass shattered and accumulated everywhere.

‘Thought you’d try to poison me, eh?’ He said, his face now pressed up to Grub’s. ‘Guards, remove this pitiful creature from my sight, his rightful place will be the gallows.’ And within seconds, huge Elven guards were at the scene. They were tall, reaching above the door frame, and were dressed head to toe in impressive Mithril armor. They carried long and horrifyingly sharp polearms, which pierced skin at the slightest touch. Their faces showed hate-Perhaps that had experienced hardship in their lives; yet, all that gave them purpose was leading poor and innocent victims to their deaths at the gallows.

‘This rat tried to poison me,’ the Archmage exclaimed. ‘Take him away, out of my sight.’ Grub began looking for somewhere to run and hide, but it was no use, the guards had already cuffed him and had him pinned to the floor, gasping for air.

‘My lord, please don-,’ he was interrupted by a large boot colliding with his face- The Archmage’s boot. Blood flew from Grub’s mouth and landed a few feet away.

‘Hold your tongue, worm; I don’t want to hear another word from your insolent mouth.’ He snarled. And with that, Grub was led away, kicking and screaming, desperately trying to break the guards’ grip.

Now with that pest gone, I can focus on the Orcs.’ He thought to himself.

 With his mind now calm, he sat back on his throne and began meditating. Meditation was a technique used mainly by monks, and was used rarely by magical folk. The Archmage found tranquillity when meditating and used it to his advantage to devise ingenious plans to inflict pain on others. He sat there, still and quiet for around 30 minutes, until his eyes sprung open, revealing his tiger-like eyes. He arose quickly from his hand-crafted throne, swung open the large oak door and began making his way down to the barracks via a large, winding and spiralling staircase that seemed to carry on forever. The Archmage thought architecture in the home was important, and that without it, you could not live in prosperity. Once he reached the barracks far underground, he opened the heavy iron door to reveal his assailants betting on a fight between to newer recruits. The recruits stood there, in the middle of the room, and were putting in all they could to knock each other out. The Archmage sighed deeply and walked in unseen by the gathered crowd round the recruits. They were all cheering, and holding money aloft in their hands.

‘GO ON, TAKE HIM!’

‘SMACK IM’ ROUND THE GOB!’

‘COME ON, I’VE SEEN BETTER FIGHTS IN A CEMETARY!’

The Archmage had seen enough. He pushed through the crowd, grabbed the recruits’ heads and slammed them together, knocking them both out. The crowd of assailants looked on in despair as none of them had won any of their bets. The Archmage was furious.

‘SILENCE!’ he began, shouting at the very top of his voice. ‘I have a job that needs doing.’

The crowd gathered even closing to The Archmage. 'I need 3 assailants to track down and assassinate two targets.' he continued. Many voices began invading The Archmage’s ear all at once.

‘I WILL, I’M THE TOUGHEST HERE, MY LORD!’

‘I’ll TAKE ‘EM EASY!’

The Archmage lowered his head and chuckled to himself.

‘Did I mention that the two of them are Orcs, one skilled in magic and the other in swordplay?’ He said to them all.

The assailants looked at each other, their horrified faces amused the Archmage.

‘On second thought, I’m a little tired. Someone else should do it!’

‘Orcs!? Sod that.’

Many backed down; Orcs were tremendously tough and were a force to be reckoned with, especially to Elves and Humans. Many had retreated to the other side of the room to their beds, apart from one. He sat in the dark corner of the room, hunched over, shuffling cards. He wore a brown hat that draped down over his eyes, and a leather overcoat that shone brightly.

‘You there,’ began the Archmage. The man looked up slightly, revealing a glowing set of eyes and the shadow of his hat. ‘Do you wish to take up my offer?’

‘That depends,’ the man said. ‘My work is done quickly and efficiently, with the right payment of course.’ The Archmage threw a satchel full of gold coins onto the table the man was sat hunched over at. He unravelled the tight string round the bag, and to his delight, mountains of coinage piled onto the table.

‘You are certainly the man of wealth, Archmage,’ he said quietly. ‘I am at your service.’

The Archmage clasped his hands together and began explaining the job to the shadowy man.

‘These Orcs reside in the Frozen Tundra, inside a cave for tonight. Tomorrow they are to move onto the town of Misthaven. I need you to kill them for me.’ He said, sounding content. The man nodded.

‘I know Misthaven; quiet town, friendly folk. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.’ He replied.

The man arose from his seat, and with a click of his fingers, he disappeared, leaving behind slow-falling particles of magic.

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