The Ruins

I owe you nothing

RAMAL

Ishloche was settling his body into a mud hole when the fairies came to him. “Orcs and men, river of many, places we have never been, but rampant run the fun of the sentry.” They fairies told him.

“Orcs and Men in the river?” Ishloche wanted to clarify.

“Battle has begun, Namani has won.” The fairies told him.

“What’s Namani?” Ramal asked coming closer, stroking Ishloche’s ears.

“The river master.” Ishloche told her, nodding. “He’s kind of a water dragon. “ Ishloche climbed out of his hole and shook off the mud.

“What other men are still living?” Lanai chimed in, concerned. She brushed her skirts down as she moved.

“Maybe they have come from a very far off place.” Jakombie replied, coming to stand beside her. He creased his brows thoughtfully. “Men, orcs, and a river dragon?” He rolled his eyes. “Where do we go?”

“Very good Jak Jak, don’t hold back.” The fairies told him.

Ramal began to climb up on Ishcloche’s back. “Sounds like the men could use some help.” She told him. She patted his head and rubbed his neck as she straddled herself down.

Lanai took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and began to feel her surroundings. She was beginning to see visions. She saw Krag and Tordin on the raft, floating Orc corpses and the encampment. When she opened her eyes, they were like glowing emeralds. “Let’s go. This could be an end to the chaos.”

She climbed on top of Ishloche and sat behind Ramal. Ishloche stretched his legs out in front of him and then his back ones. “Hang on.” He told them. He jetted forward and leaped into the air. He flew up and then circled back to pick up Jakombie with his front feet. Together the four of them flew to the battle site.

More Orcs made it to land. The men slashed and tore at them with their homemade weapons. Krag and the other two went back to the shore as well. Swords drawn, screaming like banshees they began their slaughter. The Orcs had strength and size in their favor. Huge hands crashed against skulls, as tiny human boys flew through the air to their deaths.

Body parts, human and Orc, strewn out along the dirt, hindered the advancement of the troops. The men fought valiantly, swinging axes, scythes, and swords. They threw razor sharp daggers with accuracy. B***ie traps caught the Orcs by surprise. Rocks came crashing down. Blood stained the ground. Men and Orcs screamed like little girls as they lost limbs and blood.

Jakombie dropped from Ishloche’s clutches beside some of the warriors. The Dragon flew past them and landed in a clearing of grass next to Krag. Ramal and Lani jumped off. Lanai threw a burst of energy toward the Orcs coming at them.

Krag spun on his heels. His sword tilting, and glistening in the sun, before it slashed through an Orcs chest. Ramal joined him at his side. Their movements like a dance. Step forward then back, turn and lunge. Their training was in sync. Orc after Orc fell to the ground. They didn’t stand a chance.

Lanai rushed to the wounded humans. She started to gather them together in one place. Jakombie ran to help her. They went into the grass fields and gathered medicinal herbs. Screaming and howling came from every direction, from the Orcs and the humans. Blood was quickly changing the dirt into red mud, where food could no longer grow.

Ishloche could not help with his fire, as the crowd was mixed together. He would not harm a human. He winked at Namani, and nodded. Ishloche knew that Namani would take whatever was in his water, but this time it was good. He saw the Orc bodies floating down river, and the few that were drowned, bobbing in and out of the currant. They would need to be disposed of. Ishloche went about to gathering the Orc dead, and throwing them into a pile, on the other side of the river. The water and the earth would need to be cleansed. The Orc blood was as foul as their diet. Namani wouldn’t even eat them. Ishloche breathed his fire to it all.

Krag and Ramal were covered in the blood of their enemies. The dirt rolling on their flesh as it mixed with the blood and sweat. The made it to the middle of the camp, where the limbless Orcs sat screaming. Ramal plunged her sword into the face of Jaqavious. He let out his last scream as his eyes bulged from his face.

“The last Zomborc,” Ramal said, “is dead.” She walked around him and gathered her energy. His blood would be just as contagious as the Zombies. She pulled from the rocks and the sun to start his corpse ablaze next to his comrades.

“Please, don’t.” Twoloado begged her for his life. “You can fix me. I will listen.” He nodded his head and let a tear slip from his grey eyes. “Please.”

“Why would you want to live? After all you Orcs have done to us!” Ramal was disgusted with his pleas. She thought for a second, then ran her sword through him.

Krag was running about decapitating the rest of the limbless Orcs. “Why would you even speak to this scourge?” He asked, not looking at her.

She glared at him, sweeping her blonde hair from her eyes. She was fuming and filthy, again. Ramal stuck her sword into the dirt and sighed, looking around her. She absentmindedly, snorted. “I owe you nothing. We came here to help you. You don’t know me. I don’t have to explain a thing.” She popped her neck and placed her hands on her hips.

Krag finally looked up from his work to see her. He tilted his head sideways. Her short blonde hair was wild. She had dirt and blood all over her. He assumed that her shirt used to be white, as its now brown and yellowish color made the white’s attempt to show futile. Her kilt was stylish and short. It was adorned with a sheath and knife straps. She had a good figure. She was strong and had nice curves.