Icarus masterfully parried the black orcs’ attack, his sword deflecting the arc of the axe off to the left. He followed his parry with an attack, slashing at the orcs’ right arm, forcing it to release its weapon. The orc sputtered in pain as the blade cut through its arm, drawing blood, but it continued to fight, swinging its uninjured arm towards Icarus’ face. Icarus, seeing the attack, sidestepped the blow, leaving the orc off balance. He took advantage of this, and, with a smile, decapitated the orc, relishing the sound of his blade slicing through flesh and bone alike. The sound of spurting blood was a sweet song to him.
But he could not enjoy his small victory; he had to help his comrade’s in their struggle. So, with a quick prayer, and a cry of war, he charged back into the fray of battle, hoping to find a worthy target. He quickly found himself a large black orc, whose bare chest was branded with unholy markings. This was a commander, no doubt.
Icarus yelled obscenities at the commander, garnering its attention. The commander, though unable to understand the foreign human tongue, could understand the man was challenging it. And it accepted the challenge. So, with a bellow, it charged, swinging a large hammer above its head, building momentum for a killing blow. Icarus yelled once again, and ran towards the charging brute, formulating a battle plan.
Now the brute was only a few meters away from him, and closing in fast. So, Icarus leapt forward, landing on his stomach and sliding under the beast’s spread legs. As he passed through the commander’s legs, he slashed at its right ankle, causing it to stumble. This, however, did not stop the foul beast; it was but a hindrance. Icarus quickly rose from the ground as the beast turned to face him, its eyes bloodshot with rage.
Icarus, cocky now, gestured at the beast, waving it towards him. Once again, the commander charged, flailing its weapon. Icarus prepared himself for the oncoming onslaught, planning to dodge to the left, avoiding the brunt of the attack. As the beast drew closer, Icarus leapt to the left, but, as he landed, he twisted his foot, falling to the ground.
The orc commander, laughed at this, exposing its razor sharp teeth, and stood over the man, lowering its face so that it could gloat. Icarus sent out a quick prayer as the beast descended atop him, praying for strength. And his prayer was answered. He found that his pain had faded, allowing for him to concentrate. His mana reserves were replenished, too. So, as the beast glared down at him, smirking, he yelled focused on heat. He pictured fire in his mind, imaging the heat it gave off, and the screams of its victims. And with this, he raised his hand, and yelled in the old tongue, firing a blast of fire at the commander’s exposed face.
The commander screamed in agony as flames exploded over its face, melting its eyeballs, and tearing at its flesh, and bone. It grabbed at its melting face, trying to beat the fire out, but found that it could not. The flame was not natural; it was hungry, and a lack of oxygen would not keep it from its prey. Icarus pulled himself from the ground, finding his ankle to be repaired, and admired the work of his Gods. The true gods.
With renewed strength and vigor, Icarus rejoined the battle, fighting the remaining orcs alongside his comrades. And, within the hour, the last orc fell, a spear protruding from its chest. Icarus cheered, alongside everyone else, before the captain of the company shouted orders, organizing the troops into their ranks. Quickly, the men stood in rows, and, in total, seventy men remained, of the 200 man company.
The captain ran over the men, giving each a task; the orcs were to be burned, and the dead soldiers were to be loaded onto the carts, and brought to Rosehall, where they would be given a proper burial.
--
Days Later
--
Icarus sat in the corner of the tavern, watching as men drank, and celebrated their victories against the Black Orcs. Soon the head army, led by Kratos, one of the most prominent members of the Clergy, would reach the Orc city of Gentt. The actual name of the city was unknown, along with the rest of the Orc cities, so professors across the Kingdom of Groacien were asked to name them. One professor, Mathias Wulf, named the Orc cities of Gentt, and Morrow.
Icarus sipped his mead, lost in thought, pondering how long the war would continue. It had already been going on for a few months, with the two sides locked in a stalemate. Fortunately, the death of the orc King brought the kingdom to its knees, with the largest clans fighting one another for the throne. Icarus guessed that, within a year, Thikin, the Orc Kingdom, would be half of its previous size. Especially since the clergy was helping with the war, healing many of the wounded, and using their magic to kill hordes of orcs. Never before, in the history of Groacien, had the clergy assisted the King in a war. Icarus assumed their assistance was because this war, unlike the others, was in the name of the ruling deities; the God of Good, and the God of Darkness.
Icarus’ thoughts were interrupted as someone sat down beside him. Icarus looked at the man and, from his ornate robes, and ceremonial sword, realized him to be an initiate of the Clergy. Icarus jumped to his feet and saluted the man; all Clergy members, even the initiates, were far above his rank, and deserved his respect. The man smiled at Icarus’ salute, and gestured for him to take a seat. After Icarus did so, the man spoke, “Icarus, I presume?”
“You are correct,” Icarus responded, nodding his head.
“It has been brought to my attention that, during a skirmish a few days ago, near the Thekin border, you used the art of magic. Is that true?” The initiate inquired.
“It is, sir.”
“Are you skilled in the art of magic, Icarus?”
“No, sir; I can only perform a few spells.”
“Ahh, I see. What types of magic can you perform?”
“I am able to perform simple healing, telekinesis, and can tinker with fire, summoning small bolts.”
“Interesting… Icarus, have you ever had any training in the art of magic?”
“No; I taught myself.”
“Hmm, that is quite intriguing. Icarus, I would like to meet you at the temple here in Rosewall at noon, tomorrow. You are to explain to your commander why you will be absent.”
“Yes sir.”
And, with that, the initiate stood, and left the tavern. No one noticed his departure.
