Dirty Rotten Magic

I looked up at the foreboding, ivy-clad walls of the ancient castle as I ambled across the time-worn stone bridge toward the creaking wooden drawbridge spanning the final length of the river. The air was cool and damp with the scent of moss and distant smoke, and above us, on the towering battlements and spired towers, I could see armed orc soldiers—muscular and scarred—standing guard, their eyes gleaming with a predatory glint as they watched us enter.

At the gate, a formidable squad of orcs in thick, battle-worn armor formed a heavy infantry unit. Each orc clutched a massive metal shield embossed with the emblem of a craggy wall and wielded long spears tipped with broad, gleaming metal heads that caught the light with each measured step. Their helmets, adorned with vibrant, feathery plumes that fluttered in the gusty wind, hinted at ranks and hard-fought valor. They stood imposing and silent, blocking the path into the castle with an unyielding sense of duty.

One of the guards, distinguished by a striking red feathered plume, raised his hand in a clear, commanding gesture to halt our procession. With deliberate, measured steps that resonated on the cobbled ground, he strode up to the general as the other soldiers formed a vigilant semicircle around us.

"General Urul, welcome back to the stronghold. Your business in the stronghold, sir?" inquired the guard with the red plume, his voice a deep rumble mingled with the clatter of distant metal and the rustling of banners.

"I'm escorting a delegation from the town of Oakville in the kingdom of Neo-Nursia. They are here to petition the chief of the tribes," the general replied, his tone grave and resonant amidst the murmur of the wind.

The guard's curious gaze swept over Sir Lohein, Lady Alea, and me, and he pressed on, "They are under the truce?"

"Yes, they are," General Urul answered solemnly, his voice carrying the weight of hard-won peace, "and they have been peaceful so far, captain."

The captain of the guard nodded approvingly, then bellowed in a thick, commanding voice that echoed off the stone walls, "Take the delegation to the butler for the chief!" As his words boomed across the courtyard, each soldier struck their chest with a resounding bang, the metallic sound punctuating the heavy air as they advanced to escort the three of us.

As we began to move off with our new escort, the general turned back one final time, his eyes glistening with both hope and resignation. "I bid you farewell and good luck with your quest," he declared, and then, without further ado, he sprinted off, leaving the castle and us enveloped in its ancient mysteries behind. The three of us followed the guard into the dark, arched tunnel that snaked its way through the castle's formidable gatehouse. I lifted my eyes toward the tunnel's vaulted ceiling and noticed small, ominous holes in the stone—apparently designed for dropping unpleasant, crushing objects onto attackers' heads. The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine, a visceral reminder that I was still not fully acclimatized to the harsher, brutal realities of this tumultuous world.

At the end of a long, solid tunnel, we encountered another gate guarded by a squad of fierce orc warriors, their eyes sharp and bodies taut with readiness. Our escort engaged in brief, terse dialogue with these warriors, voices echoing off the damp stone, and after a moment of mutual acknowledgment, they allowed us passage. As the broad wooden and steel-bound doors creaked open with a resonant groan, we were ushered into a vast, bustling courtyard.

The courtyard burst with life: wooden and thatched open structures—workshops, by all appearances—lined the area, their roofs and walls exuding a rustic charm amid the industrious chaos. The air was thick with the aroma of smoldering coal and hot metal, intermingled with the earthy scent of freshly cut timber. The rhythmic clang of blacksmiths pounding red-hot metal resounded from several directions, punctuated by the creaks of wooden beams and the murmurs of busy labor. In one corner, atop a stout wall, a windmill's sails spun lazily in the wind, producing a steady, grinding noise from within its ancient gears. Thickly muscled orcs, clad in rough work clothing and stained by the sweat of labor, moved purposefully among the structures, carrying heavy loads with a practiced grace that betrayed an underlying sense of organized purpose. It was a hive of activity that belied the common image of a barbaric, untamed race—here, there was order and craftsmanship.

Sir Lohein frowned thoughtfully and muttered to us, "Looks as if they are producing a lot of weaponry and siege equipment. Not always the best sign for a peace mission." His words hung in the air as if the sound of distant hammer strikes were echoing his caution.

Lady Alea nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning the vibrant scene with both analytical curiosity and restrained apprehension. As we continued to be guided toward the keep at the far end of the bustling yard, my gaze was suddenly drawn to an orc woman carrying an assortment of weapons. I had braced myself for a hideous, monstrous visage like those of the men, yet she defied every expectation. Her skin, a deep and lustrous shade of green, was unmarred by the brutish protrusions that characterized her male counterparts. Instead, she exuded an aura of fierce grace, her attire composed of brown and white linens that clung to her strong, athletic frame. As she passed by, a ripple of respect swept among the orc men—each bowed slightly in acknowledgment of her commanding presence.

Noticing my appreciative glance, Sir Lohein leaned in with a wry smile and remarked, "Surprise! Is it your first time seeing a female orc?" I nodded, and he sighed, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and caution, "You would never expect them to be that beautiful. But be warned: they have a fearsome reputation. Even the males tread carefully around the women as they are known for their combat abilities. Luckily, we only see the males fighting when they invade the kingdom. For some reason, the women are never against us. There is much speculation about an enemy to the south that the female warriors are dealing with, but no one knows the full details. We're just grateful that it's only the males that we battle. That is terrifying enough. But take note, they do not take kindly to being approached by non-orcs."

I watched as the orc woman's graceful form receded down the corridor, the muted thuds of her armored footsteps lingering in the air, and then the guards led us into the castle keep. We were forced to ascend steep, exposed stairs carved directly into the mountainside—a natural defense that made every step feel like a deliberate challenge to any would-be assailant. The keep itself appeared as an extension of the very mountain, its walls seamlessly merging with the rugged cliffside. Countless guards were stationed at every turn, their vigilant stares and clattering gear hinting at a constant state of readiness for an imminent attack.

"Always on a war footing," Alea muttered to Lohein with a frown, her voice barely audible over the echoing footsteps and distant clamor of activity.

The heavy doors to the keep were constructed of solid metal, engineered with an ingenious counterweight system that still required the strength of two guards to heave them open. As they swung inward with surprising smoothness, we stepped into the first hall—a vast, open killing zone designed to serve as the last bastion against attackers. The hall was encircled by narrow arrow slits and small, stout doors that served as exits, each detail meticulously crafted for defensive precision.

"They take their defense seriously," I commented, my tone mingling awe and a hint of trepidation.

"Which is strange, as I've never heard of the human kingdom attacking the orc empire. We think that the empire has some other enemy that is a more significant threat than the human kingdom," the diplomat explained, his voice low and measured as if weighing each word against the gravity of the situation.

In the center of the hall waited another orc, clad in timeworn, battered armor that bore the scars of countless battles. His presence exuded both experience and quiet authority. The guards led us forward, and in a gravelly voice he announced, "I'm the butler for the chief and will be taking you to your accommodation. Please follow me." I had been expecting a servant of the great castle to be adorned in elegant, refined garments, but like every other male orc I had encountered, he radiated a readiness for battle.

We trailed behind him, navigating a labyrinth of winding corridors and ascending stairways hewn from solid stone, all illuminated by the soft, enchanting glow of small magical lights. After several minutes, the enormity of the keep became apparent—it was as if the fortress delved deep into the very heart of the mountain, its corridors stretching endlessly inward. Suddenly, the butler halted at a sturdy wooden door set into the stone wall of a narrow corridor. He extended his finger and muttered an incantation in a low, rumbling tone; a soft, glowing light emanated from his fingertip as I heard the satisfying click of the lock disengaging. I thought to myself, I really have to learn this unlocking spell, marveling at the subtle blend of magic and mechanics.

With a gentle push, he opened the door to reveal a set of neatly arranged rooms, and he gestured for us to enter. "This will be your apartment for the duration of your stay," he announced in a tone that was both curt and hospitable.

Inside, the rooms were immaculate and whitewashed, their bright surfaces offering a striking contrast to the dim, weathered stone of the keep. Though there were no windows, the air carried a refreshing quality, imbued with hints of cool, clean linen and a faint trace of lavender—a most pleasant surprise compared to the expected stale atmosphere of a sealed chamber. The floor was adorned with an array of vivid, colorful carpets that added warmth and character, while intricately woven tapestries decorated the walls with scenes of epic battles and long-forgotten lore.

The first room was furnished with sturdy, well-crafted pieces—a robust dining table and several comfortable sofas occupied the space, arranged to invite conversation and repose. Off the central living room were three small rooms: two containing pairs of neatly made beds and the third designated for ablutions, its faint aroma of fresh water and herbal soap subtly permeating the air.

As I took in the surroundings, our baggage was carried in by the orcs with an unexpected deference, guided by Lady Alea's firm, almost imperious commands; for some inexplicable reason, the male orcs seemed timid in her presence, their heavy footsteps softening as they obeyed her directives without question.

Once the orc soldiers had deposited our belongings, the butler reappeared at the doorway and informed us, "It may take a few days for the chief to see you, so I ask you to be patient and not to wander the keep without an escort." With a respectful bow, he departed, leaving us alone to settle into our new surroundings. I glanced around once more, a mix of curiosity and apprehension stirring within me as I wondered what it would be like to be confined in this compact apartment with the elf for several days.

She answered my silent query with a sharp retort, "Barad`Ellil, if we're going to be stuck together in the apartment, keep away from me." Her tone was icy and resolute, and as she shot me an angry glare, she swept into one of the side rooms, slamming the door behind her with a final, echoing thud.

Sir Lohein, with an expression that mingled exasperation and resignation—as if bracing himself for a prolonged skirmish between a lion and a tiger in the midst of battle—declared, "I guess the other room is ours, oh magician."

Being confined within the same set of rooms as the elf proved to be the nightmare I had forewarned. Sir Lohein immersed himself in a world of ancient books and carefully penned scrolls, often found hunched over a desk, his quill scratching out notes in the soft glow of magical light. Meanwhile, I dedicated most of my time in the living room to practicing intricate magical spells, the crackling sound of energy and the occasional dizzying whirl of my senses a constant reminder of my overzealous attempts. I focused intently on mastering a small, flickering fire spell—a skill I presumed essential for bolstering my offensive capabilities alongside my healing arts.

Every now and then, I was graced with the presence of the striking, yet maddening elf. Now that our travels had ceased, the cold, regal woman embraced a wardrobe of flowing dresses that accentuated her graceful form and the delicate curves of her figure. The fabrics, soft and translucent as if spun from the very essence of twilight mist, clung to her like a second skin, evoking the image of a goddess—perhaps one of thunder and lightning, for every appearance of hers seemed to send a chill through the room, as if the very air around her were charged with a storm's fury. In a moment of playful irreverence, I began to call her "my beautiful storm cloud," though my teasing only deepened her scowl. It was not long before her shouts—sharp, laced with ancient elven insults—filled the air, prompting Sir Lohein to peek out from his room only to retreat hastily at the sight of her full, unbridled fury. Left to endure her tirade alone, I managed a small, rueful smile even as the barrage of words pressed down upon me, each insult resonating like a clap of thunder until, at last, she retreated to her room with a faint glimmer of tears betraying her otherwise imperious demeanor. I wondered for a while why she had cried at the end there.

--

On day two of what I was beginning to consider our imprisonment, the urge to break free became irresistible. When the orc guard arrived at dawn bearing our breakfast—an assortment of steaming, oddly spiced porridges and hearty slices of dark bread—I couldn't contain my restlessness any longer. "I need to use the exercise yard, is that possible?" I asked, my voice tinged with both eagerness and desperation.

The guard, his leathery face creased in a neutral expression, set the tray down with a measured thud. "Of course, sir. You just have to have some of the guards accompany you," he replied, his tone clipped and efficient, as if following a well-rehearsed routine.

Realizing that I had hesitated too long to ask, I nearly kicked myself in my haste to be free. "I'll head out now if that's okay," I declared, my words brisk and full of anticipation. The sound of my own voice mingled with the clatter of cutlery and soft murmurs of early morning activity.

Lady Alea's eyes brightened instantly at the prospect of escape. With a spark of determination, she addressed the guard, "I'll come with you. I'll just get changed." There was a subtle undercurrent of hope in her tone, as though the prospect of stepping outside these suffocating walls revived a part of her long-dormant spirit.

Before we had even finished our modest breakfast, we found ourselves moving swiftly through the cold, stone corridors of the keep. The walls, rough and ancient, echoed the clanging footsteps of our escort as we navigated toward a side door leading to the exercise yard. Sir Lohein had pleaded to remain behind, preferring the solace of quiet reflection—a decision I found understandable given his weary, contemplative nature.

The moment we stepped out of the oppressive gloom of the keep, the sunlight hit us like a burst of warmth. The wind, carrying the scent of pine and freshly turned earth, caressed our faces and invigorated our tired limbs. In the distance, a vibrant forest teemed with life; flocks of birds darted above a high, undulating canopy, their chirps and calls harmonizing with the rustling leaves. After a day of being cooped up with that eternally angry woman, this sudden freedom felt like an oasis of sensory delight—even if it had been more pleasant without her constant scowling.

I squinted against the bright sunlight, feeling its warmth spread across my face like a gentle embrace. I noticed that the elf, too, seemed to be savoring these simple pleasures. For a fleeting moment, she even allowed a genuine smile to grace her delicate features, suggesting that beneath her stern exterior lay a spark of joy. But when our eyes met, her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. With a swift, graceful motion, she pushed past me into the brilliant day, descending the stone steps with the fluidity of a dancer. As she reached a patch of soft grass speckled with bright daffodils, she knelt, plucking the golden blooms one by one and twisting them into a delicate chain. Within moments, she crowned herself with the floral garland like a child rediscovering wonder, her face alight with pure, unguarded happiness. It was a brief, poignant reminder that even the most reserved of elves could be enchanted by nature's beauty.

Soon after, once she had changed into her outdoor attire, the guard led us to a quieter section of the courtyard behind the bustling industrial area of the castle. This open expanse served as a makeshift training ground where orc warriors engaged in what appeared to be weapons practice. The chaotic melee was a swirling tapestry of combat: roughly fifty orcs clashed in a frenzied dance of steel and might. I watched, spellbound, as the combat unfolded in ever-shifting skirmishes—one moment pitting one-on-one duels against another, and the next, a flurry of orcs converging on a solitary warrior with a precision that spoke of rigorous training. The clash of shields, the grunts of exertion, and the resounding thuds of heavy impacts filled the air, creating a symphony of war.

One of the guards, his expression softening into an amused smile, called out, "We find the best practice for combat is to fight in combat conditions." His words, buoyed by the raw energy of the arena, resonated with an authenticity that made the entire scene seem almost theatrical.

"It all looks authentic," I remarked, my voice a mixture of awe and skepticism, as I observed an orc being forcefully knocked to the ground by a heavy shield blow. The impact reverberated through the ground, and a wooden spear tip soon followed, embedding itself into the earth where the orc had just lain. Miraculously, he rolled over in time to spring back up, launching an immediate counterattack with the very same shield that had felled him. Throughout the field, various forms of combat erupted and subsided in rapid succession.

"Do you want to practice some combat, sir?" the guard inquired, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he gestured toward a particularly soft patch of grass. I glanced at the dynamic battlefield, its raw energy drawing me in, and just as I was about to decline, the elven woman beside me interjected with a challenge. "I'll make it easy on you, 'O great magician.' I'll fight you with weapons of your choosing."

Her voice, laced with a mischievous defiance, cut through the clamor, and after being cooped up with her incessant hostility for so long, I found myself impulsively nodding in agreement. I wanted to prove that I was not some pushover. I believed I was fitter, and I reasoned that a mock battle might at last allow me to display some semblance of my magical prowess.

The orc guard acknowledged our decision with a nod and an anticipatory smile, then pointed us toward an area of the grass. I noticed that Lady Alea, ever the pragmatic one, had carefully placed her crown of flowers in a safe spot before following the guard's lead. Near a sturdy wall stood a rack laden with wooden weapons. As the choice was mine, I ambled over and inspected the solid, unadorned quarterstaffs. "How complicated could this be?" I mused, reasoning that heavy wooden sticks would offer a safe enough introduction to combat—a challenge without the risk of causing lasting harm.

I handed one of the quarterstaffs to the elf, expecting a simple, if reluctant, participation. Instead, she accepted it with a confident smile and began to twirl it with an ease that betrayed a lifetime of practice. The air whistled sharply as her staff sliced through space, nearly grazing me in its swift rotation. I attempted to mimic her movements, twirling my staff with all the flair of an orchestra conductor, though my motions lacked the lethal grace of a seasoned fighter.

Barefoot, I padded across the cool, dew-damp grass, my feet growing accustomed over time to the rugged surface—a testament to many long, arduous journeys. We soon reached a more open section of the yard, where she assumed a combat stance with the poise and readiness of a seasoned warrior. I hesitated, the heavy staff feeling awkward in my grasp as I tried to determine my next move.

"What are the rules?" I inquired, half expecting a formal set of guidelines for this impromptu duel.

"None that I know of, as we're about to practice combat," she replied through gritted teeth. Her voice carried the tension of pent-up anger and a promise of retribution, and it was clear that she was ready to unleash the full force of her skills. I managed only a feeble, "Oh," in response, realizing too late that this was no friendly sparring match.

In a flash, she lunged forward with a speed that blurred her form. Before I could fully react, the end of her staff smashed into the side of my head with the force of a sledgehammer. My ears rang with the shock of the impact, and as I staggered, she followed up with another crushing blow—this time aimed viciously at my stomach and then my groin. The sharp, brutal strikes left me reeling, the pain overwhelming and indiscriminate. If only I had been able to cast a fire spell in time, I thought bitterly, but the delay inherent in magic left me vulnerable. In that instant, the limitations of relying solely on magic became brutally apparent.

I collapsed onto the grass, the world spinning around me in a haze of agony, while she loomed over me, her expression a mix of determination and something akin to reluctant care. The next moment blurred into one where she began administering healing magic, her fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air as a soft, warming glow spread over my battered body.

Through gritted, bloodied teeth, I managed to protest, "You know that doesn't work."

"Of course I do, but they don't," she retorted with the first genuine smile that had touched her face during our encounter. Nodding curtly to the surrounding orcs—who had gathered and were now placing bets on how long I'd remain down—she added, "We should at least keep some things secret. Do try to do better next time, as it makes you look bad to be beaten so easily. You're supposed to be a mighty magician."

When I finally attempted to rise, I felt the wet grass beneath me, stained with my own blood in vivid red patches. The crude wagers of the orc warriors, who now circled around in both amusement and sympathy, confirmed that my pride was as bruised as my body. Each groan from the crowd, especially when she landed another punishing strike to my groin, resonated with a mixture of mock sympathy and barbaric mirth. Lady Alea, meanwhile, stood a few feet away, her face a portrait of satisfaction as she watched the spectacle unfold. I couldn't help but wonder what misdeeds I had committed to incur such unyielding anger from the elven kind.

For the next half hour, the field became a chaotic classroom of combat, each painful hit teaching me how to shield my most vulnerable areas. I healed myself repeatedly, determined to learn from each blow, while the orc guards continued to observe with keen interest, their betting growing ever more animated. Despite their occasional pity—expressed in grunts when I thudded onto the ground—Lady Alea showed no sign of remorse. Instead, she channeled her anger into every move, her rare smiles during the bout hinting at a grim satisfaction. "This was interesting. We must do it again sometime," she remarked coolly as the skirmish wound down.

Upon our return to the apartment, Sir Lohein couldn't help but comment as he caught sight of the lingering smile on Lady Alea's face. "You seem to have enjoyed yourself."

She simply nodded as she retreated to her room, leaving me to process the tumultuous events of the day. I just shook my head.