The Heavenly Host

“Yesterday, I spoke with some who had been in the wargtown when the D’Orcs arrived with the Crooked Sticks,” Teragdor said.

Meat Maker turned back to stare impassively at Teragdor and then shrugged.

Teragdor said, “My compatriots here would like to know more about the great warriors that came to Murgatroy yesterday. They have learned that you were the one who spoke with them the most, and would have words with you.”

Hilda noted that the half-orc’s orcish seemed a bit awkward. Apparently, it wasn’t his first language.

“What do I care? They may talk with themselves.” Meat Maker shrugged and started to turn again.

Hilda figured it was her turn. “Meat Maker, Master of Wargtown, attend me. I am Hilda of Rivenrock, and the priest Teragdor has brought me to you at my request. I would share glargh and words with you to learn of the great event that happened here yesterday.” She beamed at him in what she felt was a very respectful and yet truthful manner. She was tossing in more than a little Saintly Charisma to boot.

Meat Maker stared at her for a few moments then spit on the ground and started to turn again and walk away. Hilda had never met that sort of indifference to her charms. Apparently, her powers of persuasion did not work as well on orcs.

“What? Did the sight of the mighty D’Orcs yesterday so frighten you that you are afraid to speak of it?” Hilda shouted suddenly. Meat Maker stopped, and the crowd quickly moved away from him with some chuckles and grunts. Clearly, she had hit home.

Meat Maker came back and stood within arm’s reach of her, staring down at her. “I am not frightened of anything — orc, D’Orc or human.” He glared at her. “You are simply not worthy of my time.”

“I am not worthy to buy you a drink to hear your wisdom and insight?” Hilda asked belligerently. This was a bit odd for her, but she needed to simply let the spirit of Tiernon flow through her. Teragdor was looking at her as if she were insane. She could not see Stevos where he stood behind her, but she expected from his small coughs that he was thinking the same.

“Yes,” Meat Maker said, staring her in the eyes. She stared back, unblinking.

“If that is the case, then you are not man enough to be allowed to tell me your tales, and you clearly have no wisdom or insight to impart. If you will not speak to me, then you are not worthy of the title Master of Wargtown.” The crowd went completely silent.

To Hilda it seemed as if all of time had slowed to a crawl. She smiled grimly, knowing that this was her rituals kicking in. She saw Meat Maker twist and pull back his giant fist, preparing to punch her in the face and send her flying, most likely killing any normal human. She stepped back slightly, widening her stance, digging her feet into the ground and flexing her knees to absorb the impact. As Meat Maker’s fist came forward, Hilda held up her right arm, palm first, to block the fist. She braced her right arm and hand with her left and leaned forward to brace for the impact that was so clearly coming. She chanted one more prayer for strength; a very high-speed one, given her elevated state.

The fist came forward, crashing into her palm. The fist was actually larger than her palm, so only his two middle fingers actually collided with her. But that was enough to send pain racing through every bone in her body and for feet to dig two small trenches in the dirt as she slid back about two inches. However, other than that, she held. She did not collapse, did not fall, did not go sprawling. Her hand and arm ached like crazy, but as time started to go back to normal, she could hear a scream of pain coming from Meat Maker that was nearly ear shattering.

Hilda made sure everyone could see that she was still standing and then took a few steps back, sweeping her coat out of her way, and launched into a flying dropkick to Meat Maker’s jaw. Her legs ached with the impact as the two of them went sprawling backwards into the orcs behind, bowling them over.

As Meat Maker rolled on the ground, Hilda leaped free and stood over him, staring him down. “Apparently, they don’t breed orcs like they used to!” she shouted and then laughed. Meat Maker was on the ground, still in pain, reaching his aching hand up in the air. Hilda adjusted her position and reached down to grasp his hand and pulled the huge orc to his feet — a task that would require considerable strength for an orc, let alone a human.

Thanks to her rituals, that was not a problem. She got Meat Maker to his feet and he rubbed his aching jaw.

“So, can I buy you some glargh now?” She grinned at him, gesturing over to a nearby plank bar, behind which the bartender was staring at her in awe. “Or do you feel like another go?” She put her best charm into her smile.

“Glargh, woman, glargh.” He chuckled. “You are big boned and brawny for a human. If not for your ugly face, I might think you were of orc blood.”