Apostles of Doom

Jenn closed her eyes. That would be all they needed: Tizzy in the middle of an orc camp! She didn’t even want to think how that might go. It would certainly destroy whatever chance they might have to get the alvaran prisoners back. “I am going to check the latrines,” she declared.

The others shrugged, so she marched off in the direction Gastropé had gone. She was about three-quarters of the distance and was passing an extra-large tent when she heard people speaking in fluent, accent-free Trade.

“And then the wizard sent a lightning bolt right towards me, and Hefngratz spun at the craziest angle and took the entire bolt to his stomach!” a voice proclaimed.

“Did he completely absorb the bolt? Did you feel anything?” Gastropé’s voice asked in amazement.

“Not a thing!” the voice said joyfully. “Everyone needs a D’Warg!”

“I don’t want to go into battle without one!” a female voice agreed.

What in the Abyss? Jenn said to herself. Why was Gastropé speaking to people in an orc camp about D’Wargs? She moved around the side of the tent and located the opening flap.

“Well, you certainly do not want to go into battle against a D’Warg!” a very deep voice said, laughing.

Jenn shook her head in annoyance and pulled the flap to the side.

“Gastropé! What are you—” Jenn stopped in mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

Inside the tent was Gastropé, drinking what appeared to be beer out of a very large mug, sitting on a pillow. Also in the tent were three orc warriors, what she guessed was a shaman and — and—and what were those monstrosities?

“Who is this?” one of the monstrosities asked Gastropé as it took a drink from its own mug.

Jenn shook her head and gaped at the creature. It was some sort of horrific cross between a demon and an orc. A D’Orc? A demon orc? That was all it could be! And Gastropé was in a tent drinking with two of them and four orcs? Swapping tales of battle? The battle with the prisoners they were trying to free?

Jenn blinked three or four times and then pulled her head back and let the tent flap drop. She stepped back, trying to figure out how to process this.

“Ah… Abyssal dung beetles,” she heard Gastropé curse.

“Would those be D’Dung Beetles?” one of the orcs asked, causing the others in the tent to burst out laughing.

Nysegard, Darg-Krallnomton: Mid Fifth Period

This is critical information! Ruiden thought, sounding almost angry to Talarius.

The two were working through one of their standard routines. Talarius liked to run through different martial exercises before dinner each evening. It was important in times of noncombat to stay fit and in touch with one’s weapons; thus, he and Ruiden were working through a set of moves and while doing so, Talarius had filled the sword in on the D’Orcing ceremony, during which Talarius had left Ruiden in the barracks where he had been staying. Surrounded by allies, he had not felt the need to have the great sword strapped to his back. The less cumbersome Rod of Smiting, which fit in its own compartment, was more than sufficient in the situation. Ruiden had not known what he had been missing, and now that the sword knew, it was not thrilled at having missed it.

You do know I am a demon-slaying sword? Yet you did not think I would find such a ceremony interesting? Observing how demons are created? Ruiden asked.

Sorry, Talarius responded.I did not know that was what was going to happen. Did you know that D’Orcs and demons were created the same way? You are a demon-slaying sword, not a D’Orc-slaying sword, right?

Ruiden was silent for a while. Talarius continued working through the pattern of moves, but he could tell Ruiden was distracted, or maybe pouting? The sword did not flow quite as smoothly as usual. It was still smoother and lighter than any non-magical sword, and most magical swords for that matter, but it was not demonstrating the same level of coordination — or perhaps the term was cooperation—that he was accustomed to.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Talarius asked out loud.

Have them make another D’Orc? Ruiden suggested.

I doubt they are going to be willing to do that with no suitable candidate. There was a lot of work and preparation that went into this ceremony, Talarius told the sword.

Ruiden made what Talarius interpreted as a mental harrumph noise.

Talarius shook his head. Can’t you read my memories or something?