I wrote something!
And no, it's not light verse and it's not man-love.
It's an entry for this contest, to write a story about this picture.
Scalzorc the Survivor
"Join the army, they said. It's an orc's life, they said."
"Shut up, Scalzorc."
"See the world and pillage it, they said."
"I said shut up, Scalzorc."
"Meet interesting people and dismember them, they said..."
"As your corporal, this is an order - SHUT UP, SCALZORC!"
Private Scalzorc shot a glance at Corporal Krurt's set jaw and furrowed brow, and decided not to push things.
"They never tell Multh that," squeaked a tiny orc, struggling under his pack.
"Tell Multh what?" Scalzorc asked.
"What you say. Orc's life. See the world and pillage it. No. They buy Multh ale, then say more free ale if Multh make cross on paper."
Corporal Krurt snorted.
"Well, they told me it would be a good place to meet blokes. Tall, handsome and brave, they said. And look what I got." She rolled her eyes and jerked a thumb at F Squad.
The company tramped on through the pass, coughing as the sulfur smoke thickened.
___
High above the volcanoes, the Dark Lord Wheaton spied the orc army, now only a few weeks' march from his fortress. Of course, he could call his legions and have the orcs slaughtered quick as snap-your-fingers, but it was a fine afternoon for sport. With a twitch of the reins, he brought Boffles the Terrible down to reconnoitre.
___
"I'm just saying, we'd better stop and camp soon."
"Fat chance, Scalzorc."
"Can't remember when we last had a proper meal, even."
"Now you know why everyone's got extra jerky rations. Which I really hope you get stuck into pronto, seeing as you can't bitch while chewing."
"We've been marching three days, Corporal! Night and day! Blistering heat! No sleep!"
"Scalzorc, see this chevron on my shoulder? It means two things. One, I don't give orders to stop marching, because in the ranks of the Seventh Battleaxe Brigade I'm only a slightly bigger insect than you. Two, I'm still your commanding officer and if I shove you into that lava and say you deserted, no further questions."
Scalzorc felt a nudge from his other side. Private Multh grinned and slipped him a small packet, and Private Daruk winked and mouthed "Smoke" over Multh's head. Scalzorc glared at Daruk, whom some spiteful god had cursed with the terrible combination of an immense appetite for illegal substances and a complete lack of street smarts. Realizing that dropping the packet would undoubtedly be noticed by someone in G Squad behind, Scalzorc pocketed it, resolving to return it to that idiot Daruk as soon as something distracted Corporal Krurt.
___
Beautiful, thought Lord Wheaton. All strung out like beads along the Great Pass. Perfect. He scratched Boffles between her ears.
"Time for some fun, eh?"
___
"I don't know but I've been told...
Generals get paid in gold...
We get twenty cents a day...
When you die they stop your pay...
I don't know but it's been said...
Army axes made of lead...
Weigh a ton and always blunt...
Corporal Krurt is such a sweetheart..."
"You deserve latrine duty for that, Scalzorc."
"Remind me to be heartbroken next time we're somewhere with latrines."
"According to the map, we're off the pass in twenty klicks."
"I didn't see you checking the map."
"Did it this morning."
"Why didn't you say so?"
Krurt's sour features twitched into something that almost passed for a smile.
"Because it would have made you happy, Scalzorc, and nobody in F Squad gets to be happy if I'm not happy. And I won't be happy while I'm commanding F Squad. You know how much crap I get because Multh keeps forgetting his axe and can't remember which foot's his left?"
"Corporal, what's that sound?"
"Daruk teaching Multh to sing 'A Dozen Dirty Damsels'."
"No, further away. Hear it now?"
"Yeah. Sounds like..."
"Everyone behind us screaming in terror," said Scalzorc slowly.
As Scalzorc and Corporal Krurt exchanged glances, a bloodied scout approached from behind, yelling "INCOMING!" After a few seconds, Scalzorc recognized her as Private Telch. He'd known her since enlisting, but she'd still had both eyes and ears last time he'd seen her.
"Telch?"
"Corporal, message from the Major. Under air attack. Stand by to defend."
"What by?"
"He didn't say. I couldn't see. Something big. Good luck. I hafta get up the line."
As Telch disappeared, Krurt barked the order - "F SQUAD READY!"
And then the screams drew closer, and the shadow fell over F Squad.
___
Lord Wheaton dug his bare heel into the furry flank and urged Boffles down towards the rearguard. He had trained her well. A great clawed paw shot out, and half-a-dozen orcs were knocked from the pass. Their thin screams carried on the sulfurous air, and Wheaton smiled. If the fall did not kill them, the lava would. Squad after squad fell to the mighty paws before Boffles swooped and impaled a hefty orc in major's insignia, tossing him from her horn into the air and catching him neatly in her teeth.
"Up!"
Boffles soared up, up and over the crater of a volcano. Wheaton felt his eyelashes crackle.
"Drop!"
Boffles twitched her tail irritably but dropped the plump major, knowing better than to disobey. She was hungry, but she would eat after the hunt. Wheaton watched the major fall for a moment and wheeled Boffles around, back to the pass.
__
Scalzorc watched Telch dart off, remembering her favorite motto "He who fights and runs away, wastes valuable running time." Scalzorc reckoned that running away often wasted valuable hiding time, and he headed to the edge of the pass and looked down. The drop was near-vertical, but the volcanic rock was rough enough to grip, and deeply fissured. He shrugged off the heavy pack; it would throw his climbing off-balance. Axe sheathed and shield on his back, Scalzorc began to climb down.
___
As Boffles swooped, Lord Wheaton stabbed down with Impaler, his nine-foot longspear*, piercing the neck of a wiry scout, who twitched as she fell. Wheaton banked over the pass, facing the vanguard. At his command, Boffles roared, and every orc looked skyward to see Wheaton and the unspeakable horror emblazoned across his chest. Howls of rage and fear died away as the scowls on the green faces faded to catatonic blankness. The orcs began to grimace and gibber, and Impaler came down again, and again, and again.
(*Lord Wheaton took a pragmatic no-nonsense approach to naming weaponry. He also owned a saber named Slasher and a mace named Crusher.)
___
Scalzorc clung to the volcano. The rock was unstable, and pieces crumbled in his hand, leaving him scrabbling for purchase. Feeling tiny and horribly exposed, he inched his way to the deep fissure visible from the pass, and squeezed himself in. A foot or so inside, the gouts of sulfur smoke scoured his lungs and the searing heat blistered his skin, inadequately protected by skimpy leather armor. He began to identify words in the chaos.
"The eyes! Oh Gods, the EYES!"
"Don't look! Whatever you do, don't look!"
"No hope, no light, no future, nothing, nothing but those eyes..."
And then, silence.
__
Lord Wheaton gazed down at the carnage, marveling at the strangeness of such green creatures having red blood. He patted Boffles on her fluffy shoulder before spearing a particularly ugly little orc and offering it to her. She knocked it from Impaler with a paw, neatly disemboweled it and ate.
"Good girl," murmured Wheaton. "Let's head home."
Wheaton saw the lone orc from thirty feet up and wondered how he had missed it. He kicked Boffles into a dive, Impaler held ready.
___
After a while, it dawned on Scalzorc that the battle was clearly finished, and if he stayed there much longer, his water would be finished too. As he slowly clambered back up the volcano, he started piecing together a story for Corporal Krurt, in which he'd been knocked over the side and had somehow managed to break his fall and climb up, but it had taken so long he'd missed most of the battle. By the time he had climbed to the pass, it was a very good story and he was looking forward to telling it.
Scalzorc hauled himself up onto the pass to see Corporal Krurt's severed head looking back at him.
"Oh."
That had not been part of the story.
As Scalzorc grabbed his axe and shield, he felt a rush of wind and heard the now-familiar roar. Instinctively he leaped out of the way, parrying with his axe. The spear-thrust that had been intended for his kidney struck his hip instead, shredding his armor and tunic and tearing the flesh of his thigh. Scalzorc yelped, dropped his shield and clutched at the wound, not noticing Daruk's packet falling from his shredded pocket. His comrades' dying words echoed in his head: Don't look! Whatever you do, don't look!
___
Oh, this was a feisty little orc, thought Lord Wheaton. So much more fun that way. It clearly had some idea of what it was up against, for it would not look at Wheaton while it tried to fend off his blows. Wheaton felt a grudging respect for his quarry as he raised Impaler, aiming for the orc's exposed neck, and braced for the killing blow...
...when Boffles suddenly dived, pounced on something Wheaton could not see and rolled over on the ground. Wheaton dropped Impaler and jumped from the animal's back to avoid being crushed. Boffles was going crazy, rolling over and over on her back and kicking with her hindlegs, while her forepaws rubbed incessantly at her muzzle. He would deal with her later, Wheaton thought. Right now he had an orc to spear...where was Impaler? He looked down at the path, strewn with dead orcs and abandoned packs, but no spear. It must have fallen over the edge of the pass. No matter. The orc was still flailing blindly with its axe; it would be easily disarmed. Wheaton grabbed at the axe-handle, and the orc's fist lashed out and connected with his jaw. He hurled himself at the orc, and it dropped its axe as it fell. Wheaton straddled the orc's broad body and gripped its wrists. He felt its hot breath on his face, the studs of its armor jabbing his chest, and then its eyes opened.
___
Pinned down, Scalzorc decided he would not die without seeing his foe face-to-face. He opened his eyes, prepared for insanity or death, but saw only a furious bearded human face. He tried to buck the foul man off, but to no avail. Scalzorc managed to wrench a wrist from the sweat-slick hands, before the world exploded in a sickening burst of pain as the man punched him in the face. As Scalzorc blinked his eyes to clear the stars, he thought he saw a nightmarish vision behind the man's head, fanged and horned and furry. As it drew closer, the man's head disappeared with a horrible crunch, and a wave of hot reeking blood blinded Scalzorc. The grip on Scalzorc's right wrist slackened, and he felt the man's heavy body being dragged off him, and heard a ripping sound as the man's garment caught in the studs of his armor. More tearing and crunching sounds ensued, and Scalzorc stayed very still. When the sounds subsided, Scalzorc blinked, wiped the blood from his eyes and slowly sat up.
A horse-sized creature was rolling around in the middle of a pile of red and white yarn. Its head and forelimbs were feline, and yet it was not a cat. Its hindquarters did indeed resemble those of a horse, hooves dwarfed by the forepaws, and a golden horn sparkled on its forehead. Strangest of all, a pair of feathered wings were folded against its flanks. As Scalzorc watched, it stopped its game and looked at him quizzically.
"Thank the Gods that's over," it said. "I don't suppose you've got any more of that catnip?"
It's an entry for this contest, to write a story about this picture.
Scalzorc the Survivor
"Join the army, they said. It's an orc's life, they said."
"Shut up, Scalzorc."
"See the world and pillage it, they said."
"I said shut up, Scalzorc."
"Meet interesting people and dismember them, they said..."
"As your corporal, this is an order - SHUT UP, SCALZORC!"
Private Scalzorc shot a glance at Corporal Krurt's set jaw and furrowed brow, and decided not to push things.
"They never tell Multh that," squeaked a tiny orc, struggling under his pack.
"Tell Multh what?" Scalzorc asked.
"What you say. Orc's life. See the world and pillage it. No. They buy Multh ale, then say more free ale if Multh make cross on paper."
Corporal Krurt snorted.
"Well, they told me it would be a good place to meet blokes. Tall, handsome and brave, they said. And look what I got." She rolled her eyes and jerked a thumb at F Squad.
The company tramped on through the pass, coughing as the sulfur smoke thickened.
___
High above the volcanoes, the Dark Lord Wheaton spied the orc army, now only a few weeks' march from his fortress. Of course, he could call his legions and have the orcs slaughtered quick as snap-your-fingers, but it was a fine afternoon for sport. With a twitch of the reins, he brought Boffles the Terrible down to reconnoitre.
___
"I'm just saying, we'd better stop and camp soon."
"Fat chance, Scalzorc."
"Can't remember when we last had a proper meal, even."
"Now you know why everyone's got extra jerky rations. Which I really hope you get stuck into pronto, seeing as you can't bitch while chewing."
"We've been marching three days, Corporal! Night and day! Blistering heat! No sleep!"
"Scalzorc, see this chevron on my shoulder? It means two things. One, I don't give orders to stop marching, because in the ranks of the Seventh Battleaxe Brigade I'm only a slightly bigger insect than you. Two, I'm still your commanding officer and if I shove you into that lava and say you deserted, no further questions."
Scalzorc felt a nudge from his other side. Private Multh grinned and slipped him a small packet, and Private Daruk winked and mouthed "Smoke" over Multh's head. Scalzorc glared at Daruk, whom some spiteful god had cursed with the terrible combination of an immense appetite for illegal substances and a complete lack of street smarts. Realizing that dropping the packet would undoubtedly be noticed by someone in G Squad behind, Scalzorc pocketed it, resolving to return it to that idiot Daruk as soon as something distracted Corporal Krurt.
___
Beautiful, thought Lord Wheaton. All strung out like beads along the Great Pass. Perfect. He scratched Boffles between her ears.
"Time for some fun, eh?"
___
"I don't know but I've been told...
Generals get paid in gold...
We get twenty cents a day...
When you die they stop your pay...
I don't know but it's been said...
Army axes made of lead...
Weigh a ton and always blunt...
Corporal Krurt is such a sweetheart..."
"You deserve latrine duty for that, Scalzorc."
"Remind me to be heartbroken next time we're somewhere with latrines."
"According to the map, we're off the pass in twenty klicks."
"I didn't see you checking the map."
"Did it this morning."
"Why didn't you say so?"
Krurt's sour features twitched into something that almost passed for a smile.
"Because it would have made you happy, Scalzorc, and nobody in F Squad gets to be happy if I'm not happy. And I won't be happy while I'm commanding F Squad. You know how much crap I get because Multh keeps forgetting his axe and can't remember which foot's his left?"
"Corporal, what's that sound?"
"Daruk teaching Multh to sing 'A Dozen Dirty Damsels'."
"No, further away. Hear it now?"
"Yeah. Sounds like..."
"Everyone behind us screaming in terror," said Scalzorc slowly.
As Scalzorc and Corporal Krurt exchanged glances, a bloodied scout approached from behind, yelling "INCOMING!" After a few seconds, Scalzorc recognized her as Private Telch. He'd known her since enlisting, but she'd still had both eyes and ears last time he'd seen her.
"Telch?"
"Corporal, message from the Major. Under air attack. Stand by to defend."
"What by?"
"He didn't say. I couldn't see. Something big. Good luck. I hafta get up the line."
As Telch disappeared, Krurt barked the order - "F SQUAD READY!"
And then the screams drew closer, and the shadow fell over F Squad.
___
Lord Wheaton dug his bare heel into the furry flank and urged Boffles down towards the rearguard. He had trained her well. A great clawed paw shot out, and half-a-dozen orcs were knocked from the pass. Their thin screams carried on the sulfurous air, and Wheaton smiled. If the fall did not kill them, the lava would. Squad after squad fell to the mighty paws before Boffles swooped and impaled a hefty orc in major's insignia, tossing him from her horn into the air and catching him neatly in her teeth.
"Up!"
Boffles soared up, up and over the crater of a volcano. Wheaton felt his eyelashes crackle.
"Drop!"
Boffles twitched her tail irritably but dropped the plump major, knowing better than to disobey. She was hungry, but she would eat after the hunt. Wheaton watched the major fall for a moment and wheeled Boffles around, back to the pass.
__
Scalzorc watched Telch dart off, remembering her favorite motto "He who fights and runs away, wastes valuable running time." Scalzorc reckoned that running away often wasted valuable hiding time, and he headed to the edge of the pass and looked down. The drop was near-vertical, but the volcanic rock was rough enough to grip, and deeply fissured. He shrugged off the heavy pack; it would throw his climbing off-balance. Axe sheathed and shield on his back, Scalzorc began to climb down.
___
As Boffles swooped, Lord Wheaton stabbed down with Impaler, his nine-foot longspear*, piercing the neck of a wiry scout, who twitched as she fell. Wheaton banked over the pass, facing the vanguard. At his command, Boffles roared, and every orc looked skyward to see Wheaton and the unspeakable horror emblazoned across his chest. Howls of rage and fear died away as the scowls on the green faces faded to catatonic blankness. The orcs began to grimace and gibber, and Impaler came down again, and again, and again.
(*Lord Wheaton took a pragmatic no-nonsense approach to naming weaponry. He also owned a saber named Slasher and a mace named Crusher.)
___
Scalzorc clung to the volcano. The rock was unstable, and pieces crumbled in his hand, leaving him scrabbling for purchase. Feeling tiny and horribly exposed, he inched his way to the deep fissure visible from the pass, and squeezed himself in. A foot or so inside, the gouts of sulfur smoke scoured his lungs and the searing heat blistered his skin, inadequately protected by skimpy leather armor. He began to identify words in the chaos.
"The eyes! Oh Gods, the EYES!"
"Don't look! Whatever you do, don't look!"
"No hope, no light, no future, nothing, nothing but those eyes..."
And then, silence.
__
Lord Wheaton gazed down at the carnage, marveling at the strangeness of such green creatures having red blood. He patted Boffles on her fluffy shoulder before spearing a particularly ugly little orc and offering it to her. She knocked it from Impaler with a paw, neatly disemboweled it and ate.
"Good girl," murmured Wheaton. "Let's head home."
Wheaton saw the lone orc from thirty feet up and wondered how he had missed it. He kicked Boffles into a dive, Impaler held ready.
___
After a while, it dawned on Scalzorc that the battle was clearly finished, and if he stayed there much longer, his water would be finished too. As he slowly clambered back up the volcano, he started piecing together a story for Corporal Krurt, in which he'd been knocked over the side and had somehow managed to break his fall and climb up, but it had taken so long he'd missed most of the battle. By the time he had climbed to the pass, it was a very good story and he was looking forward to telling it.
Scalzorc hauled himself up onto the pass to see Corporal Krurt's severed head looking back at him.
"Oh."
That had not been part of the story.
As Scalzorc grabbed his axe and shield, he felt a rush of wind and heard the now-familiar roar. Instinctively he leaped out of the way, parrying with his axe. The spear-thrust that had been intended for his kidney struck his hip instead, shredding his armor and tunic and tearing the flesh of his thigh. Scalzorc yelped, dropped his shield and clutched at the wound, not noticing Daruk's packet falling from his shredded pocket. His comrades' dying words echoed in his head: Don't look! Whatever you do, don't look!
___
Oh, this was a feisty little orc, thought Lord Wheaton. So much more fun that way. It clearly had some idea of what it was up against, for it would not look at Wheaton while it tried to fend off his blows. Wheaton felt a grudging respect for his quarry as he raised Impaler, aiming for the orc's exposed neck, and braced for the killing blow...
...when Boffles suddenly dived, pounced on something Wheaton could not see and rolled over on the ground. Wheaton dropped Impaler and jumped from the animal's back to avoid being crushed. Boffles was going crazy, rolling over and over on her back and kicking with her hindlegs, while her forepaws rubbed incessantly at her muzzle. He would deal with her later, Wheaton thought. Right now he had an orc to spear...where was Impaler? He looked down at the path, strewn with dead orcs and abandoned packs, but no spear. It must have fallen over the edge of the pass. No matter. The orc was still flailing blindly with its axe; it would be easily disarmed. Wheaton grabbed at the axe-handle, and the orc's fist lashed out and connected with his jaw. He hurled himself at the orc, and it dropped its axe as it fell. Wheaton straddled the orc's broad body and gripped its wrists. He felt its hot breath on his face, the studs of its armor jabbing his chest, and then its eyes opened.
___
Pinned down, Scalzorc decided he would not die without seeing his foe face-to-face. He opened his eyes, prepared for insanity or death, but saw only a furious bearded human face. He tried to buck the foul man off, but to no avail. Scalzorc managed to wrench a wrist from the sweat-slick hands, before the world exploded in a sickening burst of pain as the man punched him in the face. As Scalzorc blinked his eyes to clear the stars, he thought he saw a nightmarish vision behind the man's head, fanged and horned and furry. As it drew closer, the man's head disappeared with a horrible crunch, and a wave of hot reeking blood blinded Scalzorc. The grip on Scalzorc's right wrist slackened, and he felt the man's heavy body being dragged off him, and heard a ripping sound as the man's garment caught in the studs of his armor. More tearing and crunching sounds ensued, and Scalzorc stayed very still. When the sounds subsided, Scalzorc blinked, wiped the blood from his eyes and slowly sat up.
A horse-sized creature was rolling around in the middle of a pile of red and white yarn. Its head and forelimbs were feline, and yet it was not a cat. Its hindquarters did indeed resemble those of a horse, hooves dwarfed by the forepaws, and a golden horn sparkled on its forehead. Strangest of all, a pair of feathered wings were folded against its flanks. As Scalzorc watched, it stopped its game and looked at him quizzically.
"Thank the Gods that's over," it said. "I don't suppose you've got any more of that catnip?"