Serenya's boots pounded against the dirt road as she raced toward Elder Ivors' humble cottage. Lane, who was fully healed by now, was already donned in his training attire, preparing to get started on his usual morning practice routine. Dawn's first light painted the world in shades of orange and pink as Lane turned to face it, his expression calm and focused.
Startled, Lane twitched just a bit as Serenya burst through the gate, her chest heaving with exertion. Her voice came out in ragged gasps as she struggled to form words. "Lane," she managed to gulp between breaths, "the village... the village..."
Lane furrowed his brow and stepped closer, his concern growing palpable. "Serenya," he urged gently, "calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me what's happened."
Serenya's chest heaved as she obeyed, inhaling deeply to steady herself. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the terror that had gripped her heart. Finally, she found her voice, though it quivered with fear. "The village," she began, "is being attacked by orcs."
Without a moment's hesitation, Lane bolted out of the cottage. However, as he reached the threshold, he paused and turned back to Serenya, his voice urgent but composed. "Serenya, go quickly and fetch Mr. Lucius and Rowan. We'll need all the help we can get." With those words, he spun on his heels and dashed out into the chaos.
Lane wore no armour, only a simple tunic and trousers, and his favoured daggers. Over time, he had shifted from using swords to daggers, finding them surprisingly easy to manoeuvre. They allowed him to be agile and swift, qualities he now relied upon as he confronted an imminent threat.
As Lane dashed through the village, the uproarious circus of battle unfurled around him like a mischievous prank gone horribly wrong. The air was filled with the symphony of frightened villagers squealing like disgruntled pigs- they weren't exactly pigs the villagers had a name for that pig-looking thing with massive ears and a disgusting tail that Lane could never spell, intermingled with the gruff, guttural voices of the orc invaders, who seemed to have mistaken the place for a rather eccentric barbecue party.
Lane couldn't help but wonder if these orcs had a taste for not only conquest but also a perfectly grilled steak. Ivors looked like that- small, like chopped in half if you know what it means.
Lane, still not entirely sure how he ended up at this medieval shindig, had certainly grown stronger since his recent injuries. However, the sight of the massive orcs – who probably had logs for toothpicks – had a way of making one-question life choices.
These weren't your run-of-the-mill foes; they were more like giants among men, who could probably double as circus tent poles with minimal effort.
With a masterful change of tactics, Lane promptly abandoned any notion of valiantly facing the orcs head-on. Instead, he decided to adopt the art of subtlety, a rare pursuit in the middle of such chaos.
He fancied himself a graceful shadow, flitting about the scene with all the grace of a tipsy swan in a tutu. His plan? Evade direct confrontations using his agility and hopefully prevent these orcs from turning the village into a smoky barbecue paradise.
In spite of the turmoil of the village, Lane's thoughts raced as quickly as his feet carried him. He couldn't help but wonder where these orc invaders had come from. They had dwelt in these lands for months, and nothing as catastrophic as this had ever occurred.
Could this be an isolated raid? He pondered, his mind racing even as he made his way through the chaos. No, these orcs are too organized, too well-armed for a mere raid. It's something more.
He spotted Old Man Higgins, who had mistaken an orc for his long-lost nephew and was currently deep in conversation about the state of turnip crops, of all things. Lane tiptoed closer, sweat running down his brow as he contemplated how to save Old Man Higgins.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. The orc, towering over Old Man Higgins with a menacing grin, was about to bring its hefty boot down with the force of a thousand turnip harvests. Lane knew he had to act quickly to prevent Old Man Higgins from becoming orc roadkill.
In a split-second decision, Lane lunged forward and grabbed Old Man Higgins, performing an acrobatic roll that carried them both out of harm's way just as the orc's foot slammed into the ground where they had been standing. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, causing nearby chickens to squawk indignantly and the village well to belch water like a disgruntled sea monster.
Old Man Higgins, now safely nestled in Lane's arms, blinked in confusion and said, "Why? I didn't know you were so eager for a turnip debate, young man?"
Lane, still catching his breath, replied, "Oh, you have no idea, Uncle Higgins. Turnips are my passion."
The orc, realizing that its quarry had escaped, let out a thunderous roar of frustration that rattled the thatch roofs of nearby cottages. It turned its attention toward Lane, its eyes glowing with an ominous hunger for revenge.
As the menacing orc lumbered forward with a ponderous, earth-shaking step, the villagers in the square gasped in collective horror. Lane, confronted by the looming behemoth, felt an icy surge of panic coursing through his veins.
In that critical moment, Lane knew that the safety of Old Man Higgins was paramount. With a swift, well-practised motion, he heaved Old Man Higgins aside, sending the bewildered elder tumbling into the safe zone formed by the wide-eyed villagers. There was no time for pleasantries or explanations; only survival mattered now.
Lane unsheathed his twin daggers, their blades catching the sunlight with a deadly gleam. He knew that a direct confrontation with the orc's brute strength would be futile, but he had a different strategy in mind.
As the orc reeled back its colossal foot for another thunderous strike, Lane darted forward, his movements a blur of agility. He danced around the orc's massive form, nimble as a shadow, and with precise, calculated strikes, he slashed at the orc's Achilles' tendons.
The orc roared in agony as the sharp blades of Lane's daggers bit into its thick, scaly flesh. The villagers watched in awe as the once-intimidating behemoth faltered, its colossal form now hobbled and unsteady. With each expertly aimed cut, Lane reduced the giant to a limping, wounded creature.
Despite its pain, the orc swung a massive fist in a desperate attempt to crush Lane. But Lane's reflexes were honed to perfection, and he gracefully sidestepped the attack, narrowly avoiding the deadly blow. He continued his relentless assault on the orc's legs, his daggers flashing like bolts of lightning in the dimming light of the village square.
What am I even doing? Lane relatively thought this as he moved around.
But before Lane could contemplate the answer, fate had other plans. The orc, driven into a frenzied rage by pain and humiliation, lunged forward with surprising speed. Its massive hand, like a juggernaut of destruction, closed in on Lane, threatening to snatch him like a fly caught in a spider's web.
Just as Lane's life seemed to hang by the slimmest of threads, a new force entered the fray. A thunderous clash of steel against scale rang out, and the orc's massive hand froze in mid-air. A sword, gleaming with deadly intent, had pierced through the orc's hand, pinning it to the ground.
Lane, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, followed the blade to its source. It was Rowan, the gallant knight of the village, who arrived in the nick of time. Mr Lucius, not one to be outdone, appeared beside Rowan, his face as inscrutable as ever. With him were Serenya and the other Ivor Sages. Trying to get hold of the situation.
Rowan, still feeling the rush of adrenaline from the battle, couldn't help but express his concern in his typically straightforward manner. He shouted, "You almost got crushed, Lane! You'd have been stuck in bed again, and we'd all be going through the trouble of waking you up, just like before!"
Lane, ever the optimist, shot back with a grin, "But that didn't happen, did it? So you should calm down, my friend. And look behind you, before you get crushed and I have to go through shit to just wake you up."