Fable - Ask Chaos into Opportunity

Urzak had been roaming. Exploring, patrolling. Call it what you will. What mattered was the road had been quiet. Too quiet. Now he had come to a town that was also too quiet.

Urzak had learned long ago that silence did not always mean peace. He had been warry on the road and that feeling hadn't left him. It felt like holding your breath. His eyes scanned rooflines and alleys alike.

The sun was setting down behind the hills when the shouting began. Urzak stopped. His nostrils flared as the noise carried. The sharp yells of men who thought numbers made them bold, the sound of boots planting hard against the ground. Raiders. Small ones if the sounds were correct. The stupid kind that mistook a small town for easy prey and in doing so didn't bother to scout ahead.

He rolled his neck once and reached for his axe leaving his cleaver alone for now.

Steel rang out nearby as the clash began. A woman burst from a small hut. She was quick, decisive and armed. She wasn't familiar but she moved like someone who had survived worse than tonight and when her eyes cut to him there was no hesitation only assessement.

Her words came fast and sharp. A sort of invitation wrapped in a challenge.

Urzak's mouth twisted into what may have been a grin. It was hard to tell in the dying light. One of the raiders, a small one, came at him with a rusty sword. He snatched the raider's arm, lifted him off the ground and buried his axe into the raider's chest with a sickening thud.

"I fight." He rumbled, his voice low and rough like stone being dragged across stone. "And I don't like scavengers."

He stepped into alignment with her putting the two of them between a rush of raiders and the street behind them. He planted himself with deliberate weight and intent claiming the space.

A raider broke from the alley with a shout. Urzak met him head on. His axe came around in a brutal arc that turned the raider's shout into a dying gurgle.

Urzak once again planted himself like a wall and now it was obvious he was smiling.

Tonight was not war.

But it would do.


Zathria At'Arel

Urzak saw it out of the corner of his eye first. The way she moved. Not frantic. Not wild. Precise. The drow cut through the flank like a blade finding a seam in armor. Her motion was fluid and merciless. One man went down choking on his own blood and another was crippled before he could even finish turning. There was no wasted cruelty in it. Pure efficiency sharpened by instinct. It was beautiful.

A low chuckle rolled out of his chest. "Ha." He muttered something like approval. He turned his head just enough to catch her silhouette in motion. A tusked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You move like..."

A roar interrupted him as a massive shadow burst from the chaos. Urzak snapped back just in time to see the overhand strike coming down. It was too heavy, too fast. A two-handed battle axe meant to end him. He didn't have time to dodge or even block. In a moment of pure instinct he dropped his weapon and caught the two-handed battle axe. The haft slammed into his palms with bone rattling force. His boots skidded through the dirt as the blade bit air inches from his shoulder. The impact drove him down to one knee and the surprise caught the air in his lungs.

The raider snarled and pulled back trying to wrench the battle axe free. Urzak surged forward instead. He smashed his forehead into the man's face with a crack that sounded like boulders colliding. Cartilage collapsed, teeth flew and before the raider could even scream Urzak surged up into him shoulder checking the axe aside and crashing them both into the dirt.

The fight got ugly quick. No steel. No room. Hand locked together. Both bodies straining. The raider was strong, stronger than most humans, but Urzak was forged for this kind of closeness. He drove a thick thumb into the man's eye, felt it rupture, and then wrapped a massive forearm around his throat and twisted hard.

The raider thrashed and choked. He beat uselessly at Urzak's arm. Urzak leaned in close, his breath hot, his voice a whisper that sounded like it was drug across gravel. "Wrong street." With a brutal wrench he snapped the man's neck and shoved the corpse aside like trash.

Urzak rose his chest heaving. Blood slicked his hands. He wiped one palm against his thigh and finally looked back toward the drow. His eyes were bright with the thrill of combat.

"That was fine work." He called over the din, genuine admiration in his voice.

He reached down and grabbed his axe and hefted it again rolling his shoulders as more shapes moved at the edges of the street.

"You up for more?"

Zathria At'Arel

Urzak watched her work through the last of the raiders with a soldier's eye. He didn't miss the way she chose to leave one breathing. That, more than the killing, told him she was more than just a fighter.

Smart. Thinking past the moment.

As guards surged in and dragged the captive away Urzak put his axe away. His chest was still rising and falling from the rush but it slowly shifted back to normal breathing. His eyes tracked the treeline where shadows still shifted.

Her words made sense. Raiders wanted fear not a fight they could lose.

"Hmph." He grunted in agreement. "They came sniffing for weak bones."

He rolled one shoulder as the last of the adrenaline eased from his body and glanced around the street and lanes feeding into it. Narrow. Choke points. Good ground if held properly.

"We pull in tight. Torches on the edges. Archers high if you've got'em. Nobody chases shadows into the trees."

Then he turned fully to her, his gaze steady and curious.

"You're right." He continued. "They'll slink off and circle back... see if fear settles in."

He paused then as if contemplating something. His brow furrowed tusks catching the torchlight as his eyes flicked to her ears, her build, the way she moved.

"But you..." He said his tone shifting to interest. "You don't look like someone who wandered up here by accident." He jerked his chin toward the darkened hills beyond the settlement. "Drow don't climb to the surface unless there's a damn good reason. So before the night finishes bleeding I want to know two things."

His eyes met hers. They were sharp but not unkind for an orc.

"What are you doing up here? And how likely is it that whatever you are tied to just found us instead of just you?"

Zathria At'Arel

Urzak did not react when she shot him that look. That, more than any apology, should have marked him as something other than a hot-blooded brute. He was an Orc sure but even by his own experience among his kind he was different.

He matched his stride to hers. His posture deliberately relaxed, unthreatening, without ever becoming small. When he spoke his voice was steady, measured in a way of someone used to command and consequence.

"I am not from this town, aye." He inclined his head in a show of respect. "I am Urzak of The Spine. Commander of Lord Azrakar's Orc forces."

He glanced, briefly, toward the dark hills beyond the torchlight. "If my words carried insult it was not my intent. If anyone can understand being pigeonholed into an generalization solely because of what you are.. it would be me."

He exhaled through his tusks, a low huff that carried more fatigue than irritation.

"When not occupied by other duties I patrol, I range. It keeps blades sharp and eyes open. Gives me a lay of the land and pulse of the people. Though I do love a good brawl."

They reached the edge of the hut where the captive had been taken. Urzak stopped just short of the threshold.

"You fought like someone who belongs where she stands. That's why I asked. Not accusation. Curiosity. And caution. I would like to know if the raiders choice this town by chance or if they were sent... and what exactly I have gotten myself in to. Either way I meant no disrespect. Just making sure we're not bleeding for the same ground without knowing why."

His eyes met hers commander to commander rather than just warrior to warrior.

Zathria At'Arel

Urzak turned to face her fully. Shoulders broad, stance open. There was no tightening of posture, no flash of offense. It anything the directness of the question seemed to earn a measure of respect.

"No." He said plainly. "If I meant to scout you I'd have counted your guards. Marked your stores."

A pause followed. Just long enough to let the truth settle.

"I came to range. To explore areas near the Spine. To watch roads. To get the pulse of the lands around us... Raiders are moving strange right now. Too bold. That has drawn my eye. Nothing more."

He tilted his head slightly studying her now with the same careful assessment she had given him.

"But if I had come as an enemy you would already know."

He folded his arms loosely across his chest. Relaxed, confident and unguarded.

Zathria At'Arel

Urzak stepped inside without ceremony. The hut was small, close with the stink of blood and fear half-dressed as bravado. He took one look at the prisoner: how he sat, how his eyes darted, how his spine curved despite the bluster and learned what he needed to know about the man before a word was spoken.
Urzak stepped inside without ceremony.

The spit earned no reaction. The insult earned a slow one.

Urzak moved just enough for the torchlight to catch the old scars across his arms and throat, the kind left by weapons that had been meant to finish their work. He did not loom. He did not shout. He simply stood where the man could not avoid seeing him.

"Henchman..." Urzak repeated tasting the word like spoiled meat.

A quiet sound escaped him. Not laughter but something closer to amusement sharpened by disdain.

"You're bleeding. You're bound. Your friends ran. Yet still you think this is a contest of courage?"

He crouched so they were closer to eye level, forearms resting on his knees. His presence alone was the weight.

"I don't need you to fear me. Fear makes men lie fast and stupid. I need you to understand something simpler."

He leaned in just a fraction.

"Your clan name means nothing in my mouth. I have crushed banners older than your hills and buried warriors braver than you without ever learning what they called themselves."

Then, without looking away from the prisoner, he spoke to Zathria. His tone respectful, even.

"He's posturing because pain hasn't taught him yet... That can be fixed without killing him."

His eyes bore into the captive, flat and unyielding.

Zathria At'Arel