Dirty Rotten Magic

I followed the quick-moving chancellor—a slender, determined figure whose eyes shone with fierce purpose—across the worn stone surface of the ancient wall, each step echoing with the history of countless battles. As we moved, our path intertwined with clusters of armored orc women, their sinewy muscles rippling beneath dark, scarred leather as they readied themselves for the onslaught that this ever-approaching wave of creatures would surely unleash. In the background, I caught sight of numerous wooden engines being methodically maneuvered from the citadel onto the outer edge of the wall, each contraption boasting a labyrinth of weapons that gleamed in the sunlight. The engines, supported by intricate rails designed for the largest wooden structures, glided along with barely a sound; the metal gears, meticulously oiled, spun with a soft mechanical hum as they were pushed and pulled into perfect alignment—a well-rehearsed operation that spoke of both precision and tradition.

When I reached about halfway across the wall, the chancellor guided me to a tight squad of twenty orc women, each hefting a heavy two-handed axe with the ease of seasoned warriors. They wore armor that, while protective, was fashioned from light metals and leather, allowing their agile forms to move with an almost balletic grace. The chancellor then approached one of the taller women—whose imposing stature, though admirable, still left her about six inches shorter than me—with a playful air. "The empress wants this guest to have the full combat experience. Don't worry about him dying, as he seems to come back from the dead pretty quickly." Her tone was as light as it was ominous, and as she turned to leave, she patted me on the back, the roughened skin of her hand leaving a fleeting warmth. "Have fun! I'll see you later when the empress holds her court."

Before I could gather my thoughts, the orc woman fixed me with a determined gaze, her eyes glinting with both challenge and camaraderie, and stepped forward, extending her calloused hand. "I'm Sergeant Shelur." I grasped her hand firmly and introduced myself, "Chrix. I guess I'm here to help in whatever way I can." A brief smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she remarked, "Yep. Is it true that you don't die?" I offered a modest shrug, replying, "That seems to be the case. Every time somebody's tried to kill me so far, it hasn't worked." With a half-chuckle and a half-warning, she added, "OK, good for you—but just don't get any of my squad killed. It looks like tonight is going to be interesting." A ripple of laughter and appreciative whistles surged among the nearby women, their voices a mix of mischief and battle-hardened resolve.

"An attacking wave of monsters is going to be interesting?" I asked, genuinely surprised by the casual tone. "No, that's just what we have to deal with on the wall. It's all the males who have turned up just as we're about to be relieved of our duty period. The new replacements are only a few days away, so we are free to peruse the menu. This battle is a chance for both sexes to show off and impress potential partners. The empress is very clever when it comes to increasing the population of the empire. Now that we've finished our service at the wall, many of us are looking to settle down for a while. So, it would be nice if you don't get any of us killed before tonight. We've all been looking forward to this for rather a long time." I couldn't help but think, great, I'm about to be caught in a battle with horny female orc warriors—and, as if fate hadn't dealt me enough cards, their male counterparts were looming as well.

"OK. I'll be extra careful not to put any of your squad in danger," I promised. Shelur's eyes gleamed as she glanced at the ax slung on my back. "I certainly hope that you know how to use that. You just stay close to me and do what I do, and we'll be fine." At that moment, the rhythmic, thunderous beat of a drum surged over the wall, resonating with an almost primal excitement. Its pounding echoed as if the drummer were overtaken by the sheer magnitude of what was about to unfold. From the direction of the large citadel I had just left, I heard the creaking and grinding of a stone entrance slowly rising—a sound that held the tension of anticipation. For several heartbeats, every orc on the wall seemed to hold their breath, their senses sharpened in unison. Then, from the dark tunnel emerged a column of marching male orcs, moving with an effortless power and a defiant grace designed to capture the attention of the assembled female warriors.

I thought, OK, it got worse—now not only horny female orc warriors but their strapping male counterparts too. A loud cheer erupted, accompanied by whistles that danced on the wind as the men poured out of the citadel entrance. Clad in full battle armor, adorned with proud signets of past victories, they marched with the resounding thud of iron-studded shoes beating a relentless rhythm against the stone, a cadence perfectly in sync with the ever-beating drums. They had clearly pulled out all the stops to impress the women clustered atop the wall.

Within minutes, hundreds of male orcs dispersed into squads along the lengthy battlement, and I watched as the female officers organized these groups with meticulous precision, intermingling with our own units. There was an uncharacteristic hush among the male orcs—a noticeable absence of their typical boisterous banter. "Lucky them," muttered one of the ax-wielding women in my squad, her tone both teasing and resigned, "all we get is one human male!" Murmurs of discontent rippled through our squad as some women exchanged sour looks, their expressions etched with both longing and frustration.

The sergeant, ever the steady voice of command, reassured us, "Don't worry. It's how we do in the battle today that counts, not if they're next to us. We've all been fighting together for the last few years, so we're a good squad. They would only break our rhythm anyway—so just do your best, and I'm sure we'll be noticed." Her words sparked renewed energy, and soon our squad began flexing their robust muscles—a display that, while impressive in its own right, had the unintended effect of inciting even more animated flexing from the male orcs. I suddenly found myself surrounded by a fervent display of strength and determination from the orc women, their bodies moving in a synchronized dance of preparation, until the sergeant's authoritative shout cut through the revelry.

"Stop it! They have a job to do." Her command was met with a burst of laughter, followed by an immediate return to disciplined readiness. Looking across the wall, I saw thousands of battle-hardened orcs milling about in a vibrant, charged atmosphere that defied the grim nature of the conflict. The air vibrated with the shuffling of boots, the clink of armor, and the soft murmur of determination, all under a blazing sun that made the day both hot and strangely inviting—as if we were all sharing in a perilous outing. For a fleeting moment, as I gazed at the scattered clouds above, I could almost believe that all was right with the world.

But then, my attention snapped back to the impending battle when, from the edge of the silent forest that bordered our encampment, a piercing shout rang out. "Incoming!" cried a scout as she burst through the forest's boundary, her lithe figure kicking up a cloud of dust with every rapid stride. Her athletic form moved with the urgency of a wild deer, every sinewy muscle straining as she raced across the no-man's land—a space momentarily empty after a dead creature had been consumed by the scavenging smaller ones. With graceful agility, she reached the base of the wall where a sturdy rope, festooned with several loops, awaited her. Grasping the rope with practiced precision, she was swiftly yanked upward, her ascent marked by the exhilarated cheers of the male warriors on the wall.

As the cheers subsided, the sergeant offered a wry smile laced with envy. "Being a scout is so risky. They're out in the 'beyond' all by themselves for days with monsters chasing them. Then this lucky woman gets to be the last scout pulled up before the attack. She'll have many men after her tonight. She might even marry a noble—damn her luck." A flicker of jealousy passed over some of the nearby women, their eyes momentarily clouded with longing before a massive, unsettling movement in the forest recaptured our attention. I squinted into the distance and saw trees buckling and toppling, their leaves and branches scattering like confetti in a turbulent wind. For a brief, bewildering moment, I wondered if a herd of elephants was barreling our way, as the entire land seemed to heave and sway in unison with the trembling forest.

Then, emerging from the deep shadows of the forest's edge, came a wave of insectoid creatures—a veritable tidal surge of grotesque life. I had once questioned why the attacking force was termed a 'wave,' but as I observed the scene, it was a perfect description: a relentless, undulating tide of creatures crashing like the ocean upon the shore. At first, smaller, human-sized beings advanced—mere ripples heralding the monstrous onslaught. I watched in awe as hundreds of these nightmarish entities emerged, their forms more akin to insects than any natural animal, as if some mad scientist had haphazardly stitched together a patchwork of biological horrors, each limb and appendage engineered to cut and kill. Their bodies bristled with jagged pincers and lethal blades, a chilling reminder of nature twisted by war.

"A grim sight for anybody," said the sergeant, her tone matter-of-fact as she leaned close, "but they're good eating." Surprised, I turned to her, and she continued, "Don't worry, there'll be enough to give everybody a good feed tonight and plenty of materials for trade." I then glanced back to see larger, more menacing creatures beginning their advance out of the forest's gloom. These were amplified versions of the earlier assailants—their long, sinuous tentacles reached out like the grasping fingers of some colossal beast, while the smaller critters scurried away, clearly wary of being devoured by their hulking kin. It was as though an unspoken understanding prevailed among them; to fall prey to the longer, more terrifying limbs was to invite certain doom.

Winding around these enormous, tank-like beasts was a group of snake-like creatures, their hundreds of millipede legs churning the earth as they advanced. Their many heads, a chaotic mass of writhing tentacles, were crowned by a central maw—a gaping, worm-like hole rimmed with grinding, jagged teeth. It was not a pretty sight, especially when you found yourself squarely in its path.

As the full wave erupted from the forest, thousands of these monsters surged relentlessly toward the wall. A booming drum sounded once more from our side, announcing the launch of hundreds of missiles aimed directly at the crawling horde. I watched in tense fascination as a rain of dark steel plummeted into the center of the advancing mass. Smaller creatures were pinned helplessly to the ground, their bodies punctured by sharp missiles that then gave way to ceramic bottles containing flaming arrows. When these bottles shattered—either on the beasts or upon the scorched earth—the spilled oil fanned out rapidly before igniting, setting the pass ablaze in a ferocious, advancing line of fire that snaked toward the forest. The heat was palpable even atop the wall, and the acrid tang of burnt meat permeated the air, a grim reminder of the devastation below. I mused silently, no wonder the forest is left a charred wasteland if such infernos rage so frequently.

Gazing across the orchestrated chaos, I wondered at the repetitiveness of this brutal tactic, observing as the larger creatures broke through the searing flames—too robust to be vanquished by mere fire—and moved unyieldingly forward. Their bodies, streaked with sooty yellow embers and scarred by the flames, marched on with a primal drive that transcended survival. Behind them, scores of smaller critters writhed and burned in the smoky conflagration, though a resilient few continued their advance. "Where do all these creatures come from?" I inquired of Sergeant Shelur, who watched the scene with an intensity that belied the casual chatter of some nearby squads eyeing the newly arrived males.

She explained, "The scouts tell us that the 'beyond' seems to stretch on forever, teeming with strange and dangerous creatures. Our stories say that the entire land north of the wall was once overrun with such monsters. Then the human, orc, elf, and dwarven alliance came together and built this pass, this wall. With the wall erected, they began the gradual purge of the monsters northward. Our orc nation was tasked with defending the wall, while the others supplied us with the necessary support. However, it appears that over the years, some of the northern kingdoms have forgotten the cost of this defense and are now shirking their responsibilities." I nodded, remarking dryly, "That sounds like normal human behavior—short-sightedness."

She only nodded in agreement, before our attention was drawn back to the maelstrom of battle as massive, armored creatures reached the bottom of the wall, their bodies still partly aflame as they started to scale the battlement. Engines of war clanked into position, sending gigantic bolts tumbling down onto the monstrous horde. "Gravity is a great aid," I remarked to the orc standing beside me. She gave me a questioning glance, prompting me to add with a wry smile, "Don't bother trying to understand it—it's a term from another time and place." Teams of dedicated orc engineers worked seamlessly as the huge bolts were aimed and dropped with brutal precision onto the advancing foes. Dozens of the tank-like beasts were speared to the ground, though more continued their inexorable climb, with some bolts missing their targets entirely, embedding themselves in the rocky ground—a truly hideous sight.

Even more disconcerting was the relentless advance of the massive snake-centipede creatures, whose lithe bodies moved with alarming speed, dodging bolts by swerving from side to side. I silently hoped they would be halted before reaching the wall's crest. Then a crisp drum signal resounded, and the engines retreated along the rails, clearing the way for the formation of shield units. Each unit, resembling an intricate tortoiseshell of interlocking shields with long, piercing spears jutting forward, shifted into position with military precision.

"Our time to shine, squad!" roared the sergeant as our group advanced to flank a shield formation. We took up our positions along the side of one of these mobile fortresses, each of us gripping our axes with fierce resolve. The sergeant's voice cut through the clamor: "The shield formation will lock the monster in place. Then we move in and inflict as much damage as we can. Our role is hit and run. We don't stay in one place long enough to get killed. That's the plan—and hopefully, it will work this time." Before I could question whether it always did, the first tank-like, tentacled monster finally reached the top of the wall. Its grotesque form clambered over the battlement, and one massive tentacle shot out toward the nearest shield, intent on snaring an orc in its slimy grasp. Suddenly, several large bolts streaked across the wall from nearby citadels; two of them struck the creature, lodging into its hide with a sickening crunch. Chains attached to the bolts tightened, binding the monster in a vice-like hold. As the shield formation surged forward, their spears drove relentlessly into any exposed flesh of the beast. Its slimy, blood-red tentacles lashed out, crashing against the interlocking shields as the creature fought desperately to free itself.

I paused, heart pounding, wondering if the formation would hold. Miraculously, it did—the orcs' shields absorbed the brutal onslaught as the warriors pressed their attack with unyielding determination. On the sergeant's command, our squad darted to the side of the monstrous behemoth. Its attention was riveted by the shield formation, leaving its flailing tentacles momentarily vulnerable. We seized the opportunity to hack at the creature's limbs; with each savage blow, pieces of its rotting flesh and blood splattered into the air. I saw the other orc women engaging in the same relentless struggle—red, viscous blood even soaking into their coarse, dark hair. Amid the brutal symphony of clashing steel and guttural roars, the sergeant suddenly bellowed, "Move back!" As we retreated, I marveled at the deep gashes we had inflicted upon the monster's once formidable tentacles, now reduced to mangled, withering stubs lying scattered on the ground. The shield squad began a rhythmic chant that seemed to bolster their strength, pushing the beast ever further off the wall. With a tremendous crash, the monster toppled over, colliding with another ascending creature, and as it hit the ground, chains that had secured its side were released with a clatter.

For the next half hour, the battle raged in a relentless cycle: each tank-like monster met a grisly fate at the hands of our ax-wielding comrades, our squad drenched in blood and gore as we cleaved into the monstrous flesh in a ceaseless routine of slaughter and carnage. Suddenly, the head of a snake-like centipede creature burst into view at our section of the wall. Its movements were so swift that even the citadel's arrows could not catch it; its twenty-meter-long body slithered sideways across the wall with a sinuous, predatory grace. With a sudden, jarring motion, it reared up on its spindly back legs before its entire massive body crashed down upon the shield unit. The impact sent tremors through the ground, as if the very earth itself shuddered in shock. I saw the center of the shield unit collapse, exposing several members to the creature's clutches. In a horrifying moment, the monster reared up again and lashed out with its monstrous tentacles, one of which snared an unconscious orc lying prone on the ground, drawing her into its cavernous maw.

Without hesitation, I lunged forward, vaulting onto the sloped shields that formed a precarious roof over our squad. With a surge of adrenaline, I made my way toward the grasping tentacle and the helpless orc, balancing precariously as bitter curses erupted from my comrades below. With swift, deliberate strikes of my axe, I hacked at the encroaching tentacle until it relinquished its grip, allowing the orc to fall safely back into the protective cover of the shields. Almost immediately, I saw one of the orc healers rushing to her side, tending to her wounds with practiced urgency.

But in that very moment, a slick, sinewy tentacle coiled around my waist from behind, its grip tightening like a vise. I was yanked upward into the air, my body helpless as I was dragged inexorably toward the monstrous, gaping maw that beckoned with rows of grinding teeth and a glistening, mucous-laden interior. In the midst of the spray of blood and carnage, I could see deep into the creature's cavernous mouth—a nauseating, pulsating void lined with jagged teeth. Below me, I noticed the rest of my squad desperately hacking at the beast's massive legs, their spears plunging into its exposed belly and tearing away large chunks of flesh in a desperate bid to immobilize it.

With every swing of my axe, I tried to inflict as much damage as possible on the approaching maw. Blood splattered around me, drenching both my armor and the shields beneath. Just as I neared the monster's gaping mouth, its long, twisted body toppled to the ground, dragging me down with a devastating, bone-shaking crash. I landed with a sickening thud, the full weight of the monstrous carcass pinning me down, and for several agonizing minutes, I lay trapped, the world reduced to a haze of pain and the relentless sound of axes striking flesh. I struggled to crawl free, each movement a battle against the crushing force above me, until finally, strong, determined hands hauled me from beneath the beast, and I was bathed once more in the light of day.

Amidst the echoing cheers and the heavy back-patting of my fellow orcs, I heard the sergeant's voice ring out with a mix of admiration and dry humor, "Not too shabby for a male. It's just a pity you're not an orc."