The Judgement of Worthiness


This too shall pass.

Story is marked as mature.

Late in the day, one of scouts signalled at Gulmar, who raised a fist and motioned for them to spread out. His gravelly voice came in over their radios.

"They are ahead. The group has been in the mist for some time. I will make contact, alone."

"Copy all, Gulmar. Good luck."

There was a clearing ahead; the other orcs had taken positions a few feet back from the treeline, out of sight.

Gulmar, moving alarmingly quietly for his size, strode out. There was a cluster of rocks perhaps fifty metres away -


The world erupted into gunfire. There was a thundering of a heavy automatic weapon and the muzzle flash of multiple individual semi-automatic rifles, but Gulmar leapt into a lumbering sprint straight ahead.

Astarlane felt one of the orcs spinning up a spell, but too slowly.

Suicidal motherfucker, she thought, and raised a hand.

An orange disc came up, and the first heavy-caliber slug slammed to a halt inches from the charging orc's face. Astarlane grunted with the effort, dropping to her knees.

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