Red & Brunhilde's SOS

You know how it goes. You set out for a bounty on six orcs and an orc army shows up. Damn! Initial fight scenes here: https://budgetpixel.com/p/28375 by dirty_biker. If you want to see Red & Brunhilde's saga up to this point : https://budgetpixel.com/blog/the-legendary-saga-of-red-brunhilde With a Little Help from Our Friends Table of Contents CaylaCatz : Running for help winter_witch : Answering the call TheBard: Shadow Stepping Music for the Forest scenes Dirkharkin: Lirael, the Crimson Rose Fairy suga2309: First Arrows Flight bobbie: every villager's hero Music for the Battle in the Fields Sealine : The Rise of Ember panos: A very very handsome Wizard and his good friends TheBard: Time Out for a Sit In Archangeltara: Give peace a chance TheBard: The fields are alive with the sound of music Eternasky: The expensive but very very excellent add-ons Off with their Heads ashikaga_takauji: An Honorable Orc faerierealm: It’s the little things that count dirty_biker: Brotherly Love Eternasky : Escaping Big Brothers dirty_biker: A Friendly Little Competition CaylaCatz: Finale: It's a Win-win CaylaCatz: Aftermath : Riverside Party Time! panos: Second party: Encore at the Tavern The end! .... until the next adventure... Click on "The end" to reach comments faster CaylaCatz : Running for help text by CaylaCatz; images by CaylaCatz (+ one by dirty_biker) instrumental : Gjallarhorn Tide by CaylaCatz The Longfellow girl was racing the sunset home, her basket brimming with blueberries, when she saw it—her first orc. It stood hulking and ugly in the forest path ahead, snuffling the air. She froze, heart hammering, and slipped behind a fallen log. One orc was bad enough. But when she dared a glance toward her family’s farm, her breath caught in her throat. They were everywhere. An army of orcs surged across the fields like a living tide, trampling wheat, smashing fences, bellowing their war‑cries. Smoke curled from the barn roof. And in the middle of that chaos, two lone figures fought like cornered lionesses—one with hair like wildfire, the other gleaming gold in the sun. They carved through the horde with impossible ferocity, but they were only two against a hundred or more. image by dirty_biker initial battle scenes here: https://budgetpixel.com/p/28375 The girl didn’t think. She ran. Branches whipped her face as she tore through the forest shortcut, feet flying over roots and stones. She was the fastest runner in the village—everyone said so—and now she prayed to every god she knew that her speed would not fail her. She had to reach the Huntress Warriors’ Guild. She had to bring help. If she stumbled, if she slowed, her family would be lost. She’d always dreamed of joining the Guild, of learning the bow, of fighting monsters like the heroes in the stories. Her mother had forbidden it. Too dangerous, she’d said. Well, danger had come anyway. She would get help. She would. And then she’d go back and fight beside them. Someone would lend her a bow. Someone had to. She burst through the Guildhall doors like a storm wind, shouting, “An army of orcs outside town! My family needs help! Two warriors are fighting them—an army—please!” The hall erupted. One of the women snatched the great Gjallarhorn from its hooks and sprinted outside. A moment later its mournful blast rolled across the rooftops, the ancient call to arms. The rest of the Huntresses were already grabbing weapons, buckling armor, shouting orders. “Which way?” one demanded. She pointed, breathless. “My family’s farm—the Longfellows—on the mountain road. There are hundreds of them.” “Hundreds?” another woman barked. “And the warriors? Who’s holding them off?” “I—I don’t know their names,” the girl stammered. “One had hair like fire. The other… gold, shining in the sun.” A ripple went through the room. “Red and Brunhilde,” someone said. “Has to be.” “Well then,” another voice called, “let’s go party. Why should they have all the fun.” The Guild surged into motion. Horses were saddled. Arcane thunderbikes roared to life. Villagers poured into the street with spears, axes, anything they could grab. Even the tavern emptied—mercenaries, bounty hunters, rough‑looking folk her mother had always warned her about. Today they were angels. Today everyone was her hero. “I want to go!” the girl cried. “Give me a bow!” A Huntress pressed one into her hands, along with a skin of water. She drank, gasping, then scrambled onto the back of a aether motorcart as it lurched forward. The whole town rumbled toward the Longfellow farm—warriors, misfits, farmers, and fighters alike. And the girl held her borrowed bow tight, heart blazing with fear and determination. Now, she was running toward the fight. winter_witch : Answering the call text by winter_witch; image by winter_witch https://budgetpixel.com/p/29165 instrumental : The Vow by CaylaCatz I was born with two certainties written in my stars: that I would be a warrior, and that Elin would be my one true love. When the rumour began of orcs sighted to the east, I rode out alone. I found nothing—no tracks, no sign I could follow. By the time I turned back, the sky behind me had already begun to darken. I saw the smoke even before I crested the final hill. And my blood ran cold. The village was burning. Bodies lay where they had fallen—on the paths, in the doorways, scattered into the fields where flight had been cut short. I called her name until my voice broke. I found Elin by the well, her bow beside her, three orcs fallen within reach of her last arrows. I buried her before the fires died. Since that day, I have followed their spoor wherever it leads. I do not hunt in anger. Anger burns out. I hunt because I remember. And when the call comes that Red and Brunhilde stand against a roaming horde, I ride toward them without hesitation. I was too late once. I will not be again. TheBard: Shadow Stepping text by TheBard; images by TheBard https://budgetpixel.com/p/29691 instrumental : In The Tavern by TheBard In a nearby bar, a very charming bard is having a good time and has some drinks with a beautifull red haired assassin. Suddenly they hear an alert horn. The assassin: "Did you hear that, there's surely a fight." The bard: "Yeah, I am sure, some fighters and barbarians can handle this, did I already tell you, that I have a room rented here ?" The assassin: "Let's go and have some fun killing something!" ... and with a puff of smoke she vanishes. The bard: "Sigh ... why do I always meet the crazy ones ? 😔 Okay then let's have a look what's going on." Down a dirty road, he follows a trail of dead orcs, which have a very astonished facial expression, like they have been struck by something, that popped out of the shadows, stabbed them and vanished again. And while the assassin has the time of her life, shadow stepping from orc to orc, the bard arrives at the battlefield and sees Red and Brunhilde in distress, surrounded by orcs. The bard is not far behind but travels by more traditional means. He hitchhikes on a thunderbike with a bountyhunter archer. Music for the Forest scenes instrumental by CaylaCatz Dirkharkin: Lirael, the Crimson Rose Fairy text by CaylaCatz image by Dirkharkin https://budgetpixel.com/p/28845 A tremor rippled through the glade, a shiver that ran through root and leaf as though the forest itself were drawing breath. Then the air split into a cascade of glittering motes, swirling like ruby‑flecked snow. From that shimmering veil stepped Lirael, the Crimson Rose Fairy, her wings unfurling in a blaze of scarlet light. She moved with the effortless grace of something born half from magic and half from moonlight, her expression serene—as though stepping between worlds were no more troublesome than crossing a stream. The orcs felt her before they saw her. Their snarls faltered, turning into guttural roars as they spun toward the glade, weapons raised, eyes wide with the shock of encountering a creature far beyond their reckoning. The underbrush shook beneath their charge, heavy footfalls pounding the earth like war drums. Yet Lirael did not flinch. She simply lifted her chin, crimson hair drifting around her like living flame, and regarded the oncoming horde with the calm of a queen surveying unruly subjects. She raised one slender hand, fingers tracing a sigil in the air that glowed like molten gold. The glade brightened, shadows fleeing from her as if in awe. Then the world erupted. A torrent of enchanted fire spiraled from her palm, twisting upward like a blooming rose wrought from pure flame. It unfurled across the clearing in a sweeping arc, a storm of burning light that danced with impossible beauty even as it struck her foes. The air hummed with raw power, petals of fire scattering like sparks from a celestial forge. When the blaze faded, the glade shimmered with lingering motes of magic, drifting lazily through the air like embers from a dream. Lirael lowered her hand, her expression unchanged—serene, resolute, touched with a hint of sorrow. For her, this was not battle. It was duty. And the Crimson Rose Fairy never faltered when the Guild called for her aid. suga2309: First Arrows Flight text by CaylaCatz image by suga2309 https://budgetpixel.com/p/27983 The archer sprinted through the shadowed woods, breath sharp in her chest, boots hammering across roots and moss slick with morning dew. Branches clawed at her cloak as she wove between ancient trunks, every stride fueled by urgency and fire. Calyra Flamewink moved like a streak of red‑gold lightning, her braid snapping behind her as she burst from the treeline. She skidded to a halt at the forest’s edge, dirt spraying beneath her heels. There—across the clearing—her friends knelt in the trampled grass, bruised but unbroken, defiant even with the orc captain’s jagged blade hovering near. A ring of snarling orcs surrounded them, a living wall of muscle and malice. Far too many for a clean rescue. Far too many for anyone sensible to take on alone. Calyra was not known for her sensibility. She slid an arrow from her quiver with a flourish, the motion smooth as a magician’s trick. Her bow rose in one fluid sweep, the string drawing back until it creaked in protest. She sighted down the shaft, breath steadying, the world narrowing to a single point of focus. The orcs were jeering, confident, distracted by their own numbers. Good. Let them laugh. Let them think victory was already theirs. Calyra’s fingers released, and the arrow leapt forward with a shrill, singing cry, cutting through the air like a streak of vengeance. It struck true, scattering the mob into startled chaos. A slow smile curved across her lips as she reached for her next arrow. Oh yes—this was going to be fun. She’d thin the horde from here, one shot at a time, until the odds shifted or the reinforcements arrived. And they would arrive. She’d made sure of that before she sprinted ahead. The others were not far behind her now, riding hard, weapons ready, answering the call. Calyra planted her feet, lifted her bow once more, and let the thrill of the fight settle into her bones. The day wasn’t lost yet. Not while she still had arrows to spare. bobbie: every villager's hero text by CaylaCatz image by bobbie https://budgetpixel.com/p/27853 George had heard the rumors in the village—an orc infestation boiling out of the forest, and the defenders desperate for archers. That was all the excuse he needed. He kicked his hard‑earned arcane motorcycle into gear, the smallest model Ciel ever sold, but worth every coin of the six months he’d bled for it. The machine screamed across the countryside, carrying him to the treeline in record time. He slid his thunderbike into a thicket, cloaking the gleaming runes beneath branches, then sprinted down a hunter’s shortcut only locals knew. The forest shook with distant battle cries, but George moved like a shadow, loosing arrows that dropped a few orcs creeping toward the other archers. He burst from the underbrush just in time to see Lirael, the Crimson Rose Fairy, scorching a cluster of orcs with a swirl of blazing petals. Farther ahead stood Calyra Flamewink—every archer in three kingdoms knew her name. Fastest draw alive, they said. George grinned as he dropped into a steady kneeling stance, pulling an arrow from his quiver. Time to see if he could give the legendary Flamewink a little competition. His bowstring thrummed, and an arrow streaked toward an oncoming orc like a shard of lightning. Music for the Battle in the Fields instrumental by CaylaCatz for all the scenes set in the farmer's field below unless other music is shown. image by CaylaCatz Sealine : The Rise of Ember text by CaylaCatz Image by Sealine https://budgetpixel.com/p/28892 The young swordswoman vaulted from her stallion and hit the farmland running, dust swirling around her boots. Rissa could see her older sister from here. Red had always imagined her little sister would stay tucked safely in the village—but their family had never been one for quiet lives. Tales of her sister’s exploits had reached her, and she’d trained hard to carve her own legend. Rissa yearned to be known as Ember these days, hoping that name would become as famous as Red's. She'd even searched out a wight's barrow for a legendary sword. Not that she knew how the sword worked but it had a lovely Emberish glow. She’d come to show off her new skills and her lovely new-to-her ancient spell-crafted sword. Rissa couldn't wait to tell Red about her first fight. Now here she is and she finds Red surrounded and held by an orc army. Fury surged through her, hot and blinding. With a shout, she raised her new blade and drove into the fray, determined to reach her sister or fall trying. The bloodthirsty sword roared with delight. After centuries of silence, it finally tasted the promise of slaughter again—and it exulted in this reckless mortal who had dared to claim it as their own. As her fingers tightened around the hilt, a surge of ancient battle‑lore flooded her sinews, sharpening her stance and guiding her limbs with a mastery she had yet to learn. The sword taught her with each swing as orc heads and limbs spun through the air like grisly banners of her awakening power. panos: A very very handsome Wizard and his good friends text by panos; image by panos https://budgetpixel.com/p/28894 instrumental : The Wizard & Heroes of Light & Darkness Charge by CaylaCatz A very clever, very wise, very, VERY handsome Wizard Heeds A Call for Help! The Brave, Hardy, Very Skilled in Arms (and very, VERY Voluptuous) Red & Brunhilde are in Dire Straits in the hand of a Horde of Loathsome Orcs!! (I hear these are also detrimental to vodka production, the MONSTERS!!!!) So, our Wizard calls on his Good Friends, The Heroes of Light and Darkness and rushes to the Rescue!!!!! (what's that? Why doesn't he rush to fight a Horde of Loathsome Orcs, all by HIMSELF? Because, THIS Wizard is also very, very, VERY NOT-Insane!!!! That's why!!) So, Battle. It’s been a long time since the last occasion I fought Orcs. In recent years I have been employed on a pirate ship, taking part in lots of sea-battles, mainly against …sea-monsters … specifically…. oh, I’ll say it: F@#$ing Kraken! Well, these abominable Scourges of the Ocean and of hard-working, honest pirates (… what? …) are far from my mind, as me and my old friends, the Heroes of Light & Darkness charge into the Orc Horde like a stampeding herd of mammoths. I can only imagine the total surprise on the part of the Orcs. One moment they are happily marauding that farmstead, planning to do Belial knows what to these two very brave, very skilled (and very, VERY voluptuous) warriors, Red & Brunhilde, the next… A hurricane’s worth of lightning falls on them, hurled from my coruscating staff, incinerating dozens of them. Lightning spells are the handiest combat spells I have at my disposal. Behind me, Elmina, Ghost-Princess of Ancient – sunken – Velemnya, raises her crystal staff over her head. I can feel the sharp other-worldly cold, as the staff siphons the nearest Orcs’ life-force inside it. Is this the faintest hint of a smile I see on her face? She is always so expressionless, so aloof, unruffled by anything. I guess 800 years of ghostly existence as the Princess of an unwillingly-submerged kingdom tend to lend you a certain detachment. In front of me, Adrianna, the Vampire Countess charges screaming like a banshee into a knot of Orcs, shredding them to pieces, her hands morphed into very, VERY sharp claws. She throws back her head and lets out a scream – laugh of absolute battle joy – and – madness, those freaking very, VERY big fangs of hers, gleaming in the sun. She’s a babe, that’s for sure … but those teeth of hers…. Not to this wizard’s liking. Though, I’m sure my Big Cousin over at the Exclusion Zone would appreciate them…. Seems to have a thing for vampire babes. Of course, he already has a vampire gf and that Amalia OWNS him, lock, stock and barrel. I swear, that gal will even force him to forswear vodka!!!! If Adrianna shows up and approaches him to a distance less than a kilometer, there will be such a battle that will make this one seem like a kindergarten-yard brawl! A loud orcish battle-scream cuts this subconscious train of thought. A very big Orc chieftain rushes straight towards me, wielding a huge double-handed sword, screaming orcish profanities, saliva flying from his open mouth. I send a bolt of lightning straight into that mouth. For a moment, the orc lights up from the inside, you can see his skeleton, like a freaking X-Ray. Then, he collapses, his charred flesh smoking. In the air above us hovers Galaxias, High Priest of the Order of Holy AstroMages. Torrents of Astral Magic emanate from his hands in the shape of swirls of stars and galaxies, fatal to the Orcs they touch. If you look at the zenith over him, despite it being midday, you can see bright constellations. And every time he hurls a spell, those constellations SHIFT their shape. Illusion? Well…. Perhaps… I hear his voice, "Smite those flankers at our right, Wizard. I nodded to you to do it but you didn’t notice." "You should stick to verbal comms, Galaxias," I tell him, ‘ I cannot see your face, just a radio telescope’s photo of the Universe!" "…What do you mean, Wizard? That IS my face!" "……… You know, Galaxias … I really DIDN”T need to know this!" So, one group of Orc flankers extra - crispy – smitten later, I watch sir Stargazer, Knight of the Holy Order of the Sacred Constellation, at the point of our wedge formation, wielding that huge Astral blade of his, felling Orcs in droves, like ripe corn. A man of few words, that one. One could almost say a man of no-words-at-all. I guess he is the “Strong, Silent” type. His combine-harvester charge opens the way almost to the farmhouse that is at the center of the conflict. I can see that other people have heeded the Call. Good for Red and Brunhilde. Then, a HUGE Orc Battle-Chief comes up behind our good knight, moving fast, despite all that bulk. I hit him with a battery of lightning bolts, hurling him in the air, over Stargazer’s head, crashing into a group of Orc warriors in front of him. He turns his head and nods to me. I nod back. All in a wizard’s workday. We are almost at the farmhouse now. And now I see R & B, right in the midst of Orcs. TheBard: Time Out for a Sit In Images by TheBard https://budgetpixel.com/p/29729 instrumental : Calming The Battlefield by TheBard The bard stood alone before Freyr’s Temple of Peace, its ancient stone glowing like a quiet ember against the storm of dust rising on the horizon. Orcs — felt like thousands of them — thundered toward him, a living avalanche of iron and fury. Yet he only tightened the strap of his rune‑carved lute and struck a single shimmering chord. The note rolled across the farmfield like warm sunlight breaking through storm clouds. One by one the front ranks faltered, then sat, then the next rows followed, until the Eastern edge of the horde settled into neat, obedient lines. His melody wove through them like a gentle river, smoothing rage into drowsy wonder. Even the earth seemed to breathe slower beneath his boots. But magic has a price, and he felt his strength draining with every measure. His fingers trembled, his breath grew thin, and the spell began to flicker like a dying lantern. The orcs shifted uneasily, tusks twitching as the first hints of fury returned to their eyes. The bard knew he had only moments. With a final sweep of his hand across the strings, he rose and began to walk, still playing, still coaxing peace from the fraying edges of his power. The spell clung to the horde just long enough for him to slip past them, the last notes drifting behind him like fading starlight as the orcs blinked awake, confused and harmless — for now. The orcs lurched to their feet, snarling as the last tatters of the bard’s spell peeled away like smoke in a storm wind. Rage flooded back into their thick skulls, and a roar rose from the horde — the kind that promised they’d chase that cursed lute‑strummer to the ends of the world and hack him into pieces small enough to season a stew. But before the first brute could take a step, the forest’s edge flashed with sudden steel. Arrows hissed out in a deadly curtain, thudding into the front ranks with the cold finality of fate itself. The horde froze, not by magic this time, but by the unmistakable silence that follows a well‑placed volley. One by one the orcs toppled, their war cries snuffed out before they could fully rise. The forest held its breath, the temple stones gleamed, and the bard — somewhere down the path — never heard the moment his pursuers fell quiet for good. He had just trusted in Fate and Luck that the other fighters -- and dare he hope, the lovely Assassin -- would arrive in time. Archangeltara: Give peace a chance instrumental by Archangeltara image by Archangeltara https://budgetpixel.com/p/28913 text by CaylaCatz A knot of orcs broke away from the main horde before the Bard's music could reach them, their greedy eyes catching the silhouette of the temple crouched beside the road. Temples meant gold. Gold chalices, gold offerings, yes, lots of loot. So off they thundered, eager for easy plunder. They kicked in the doors and stomped inside, only to find the head monkwizard standing calmly in the center of the hall, hands folded as if greeting honored guests. “You are welcome here,” Matthew said, voice serene as still water, “if you come in peace.” “Bah Peace!” snarled the lead orc. “We loot! We steal! We kill!” The others bellowed agreement and surged forward, weapons raised. The monkwizard sighed, as though disappointed in unruly children. “I serve Freyr, Lord of Peace and Plenty. He bids you surrender your swords.” “NO! WE KILL!” they roared, charging him in a froth of tusks and fury. Matthew lifted his hands. Aqua light blossomed—soft, cool, utterly at odds with the violence rushing toward him. In an instant, the orcs skidded to a halt, blinking in bewilderment as the magic washed over them. Their snarls melted into puzzled frowns. Their weapons clattered to the floor. They were still orcs in memory, but had become men. Peaceful men? Huh? The bloodlust evaporated, replaced by an inexplicable yearning for quiet fields, good soil, and maybe a nice patch of barley. They didn't even lust for vodka. They stared at their empty hands, then at each other, then at the monkwizard. Going back meant certain death. Going forward meant… farming? It was all terribly confusing. TheBard: The fields are alive with the sound of music images by TheBard https://budgetpixel.com/p/29724 instrumental : The Battlefield by TheBard text by CaylaCatz The bard staggered into another knot of orcs, his magic flickering like a candle in a gale. He no longer had the strength for soothing melodies, so he raked his fingers across the strings and unleashed a wild, discordant storm of sound. The notes twisted through the air like drunken lightning, sowing irritation and suspicion in every thick skull it touched. Orcs snapped at each other over imagined insults, shoving, snarling, and erupting into chaotic brawls the moment someone brushed a shoulder or cast a sideways glance. But those closest to the bard weren’t fooled by the racket; they fixed on him with murderous intent, deciding that silencing the noisy troublemaker was far more satisfying than fighting their own. At that exact moment, a string snapped with a sharp twang, cutting the music dead. With no spells left and no weapons to speak of, the bard did the only thing he could — he swung his battered lute like a club, cracking it against a few charging heads. The instrument's hardwood, magically strengthened by a very very handsome wizard who appreciated a ballad of his feats, bought him a heartbeat. Then the shadows rippled, and the assassin appeared at his side, moving with a speed that made the air itself flinch. Orcs fell around them in a widening ring, unable to track the blur of steel and motion as she flickered in and out of sight, dispatching foes with effortless precision and a grin that suggested she was enjoying herself far too much. The bard couldn’t help but smile back. Now this felt like proper adventuring. Eternasky: The expensive but very very excellent add-ons text by Eternasky ; images by Eternasky : https://budgetpixel.com/p/28927 When Ciel, a topnotch thunderbike seller, had gone over the fine points of their rig, he had stressed the importance of add-ons. Red had reluctantly ponied up the extra gold for the protection package but it really was the best package in the business. Although they had abandoned the rig outside the field as the women slew orcs, the vehicle now detected owner life signal too low and drove in towards them, weapons a blazing clearing a path to its owners. text by CaylaCatz The arcane thunderbike rig skims in close, engines humming with otherworldly power. The protection add-ons activate immediately. A blue spell light washes over Red and Brunhilde. A mechanical voice sounding like a recording of Ciel speaks, "Auto Health System: Casting Healing Touch" "Activating Auto Recovery Aura+1" "HP+++ in effect." "Auto Health System: Casting Healing Touch" "Activating Auto Recovery Aura+1" "HP+++ in effect." Lighter wounds heal immediately. More serious wounds scab over. A wash of energy flows through the women giving them renewed vitality. The surge of restored strength hit them like a blessing from the old battle‑gods themselves, and not a moment too soon. The orc captain’s spell‑blade had been gnawing at their vitality from the moment the had fought him, a parasitic enchantment that leeched strength with every heartbeat the first time their swords clanged against his. Red had felt her knees buckle, her vision tunneling as though the world were dimming around her. Brunhilde’s arms had grown heavy as stone, her sword falling from her grasp, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The blade’s foul magic had been draining them dry, sapping muscle and will alike until they could no longer stand. But now—now the weight lifted. The fog burned away. Their legs steadied beneath them, fire returning to their veins. The spell’s grip did not shatter under the wash of arcane healing, but it was lessening. As the thunderbike, started a second round of the "Healing Touch", the women knew they'd be able to stand soon. The orc captain felt the women’s renewed vitality surge through the spellblade like a jolt of lightning, and his snarl twisted into a roar of pure outrage. The weapon vibrated in his grip, hungry, impatient, furious that its feast had been interrupted. He could feel its need clawing at him—an ancient, parasitic enchantment that demanded life‑force the way a furnace demands fuel. If he didn’t let it drain the warriors soon, it would turn on him instead. It had done so to previous masters, devouring them without hesitation when they failed to keep it fed. The blade pulsed now, a wicked heartbeat against his palm, urging him to strike, to kill whatever was interrupting its feast. Glaring at the thunderbike hovering nearby, its arcane engines humming defiantly, the captain’s fury sharpened into a single murderous intent. The machine’s healing aura had given the women energy, and robbed his soulstealing blade of its imminent victory. The spellblade hissed in his hand, sensing the threat, the challenge, and demanding action. Or else! With a guttural bellow, the captain crouched low, muscles coiling like a spring. Then he leapt—vaulting clean over Red and Brunhilde in a single monstrous bound, his jagged weapon raised high. If he could not drain the warriors where they stood, then he would tear apart the infernal machine that dared to defy him. The thunderbike’s runes flared in warning as his shadow fell across it, the air crackling with the brute force colliding with arcane power as a protective aura surged around the vehicle. Off with their Heads text by CaylaCatz Frustration boiled in the orc captain’s chest. The thunderbike refused to break beneath his blows, its runes shimmering defiantly. Snarling, he turned toward the two women sprawled in the dust. The spellblade in his fist thrummed with hunger, its edge whispering for the women's vitality, but blood would do. Across the battlefield, his warriors clashed with scattered bands of defenders—ripe vessels for draining, if time allowed. Feeding the blade with the women's life‑essence would keep its power burning for days. But killing was quicker. If he took their heads, the thunderbike’s healing wards would fail. He raised the sword high, its runes flaring like lightning. Then—steel rang. A samurai and a strange orc clad in the tattered remnants of samurai armor leapt between him and his prey. Their blades caught his in a shower of sparks. “Get them!” he roared, voice echoing like thunder across the field. His warriors surged forward, snarling and swinging axes. He could not fight all three and still claim the bounty. The women had to die—their heads were worth gold and glory both. An Honorable Orc text by CaylaCatz; instrumental : Samurai Duo's Battle by CaylaCatz image by ashikaga_takauji https://budgetpixel.com/p/30673 The orc captain's personal guard of 20 surged towards the samurai and his rebel orc companion. Ashikaga Takauji, the samurai, moved like a blade given human shape, his armor scorched and dented but his stance unbroken. Masashige Taka, his orc friend, stood at his side, his broad frame wrapped in the battered remains of samurai armor, his eyes steady with the calm of Bushidō. The first wave of orcs charged with a roar, but Takauji met them head‑on. His sword flashed in tight, precise arcs, each stroke cutting through an attacker’s momentum and sending them crashing to the earth. Masashige fought with heavier, sweeping strikes—an avalanche of disciplined force—turning aside axes and clubs as if they were children’s toys. Together they formed a rhythm: Takauji the lightning, Masashige the thunder. Takauji had begun as Masashige’s sensei, the quiet storm who taught him the discipline and restraint of Bushidō. Masashige still carried that reverence deep in his bones, a loyalty so absolute that only those who had walked The Way could understand it. Though the years of battle had tempered their bond into friendship, the orc never forgot who had lifted him from the mud and shown him a warrior’s path. Masashige guarded his teacher with a fierce, unspoken vow. And on days like this, when Takauji’s talent for attracting impossible odds left them facing twenty howling foes, that vow anchored Masashige’s spirit. He would not fail his sensei, his soulfinder, his friend. Honor demanded no less. More orcs surged in, a snarling mass of muscle and fury. Masashige stepped forward, intercepting three at once. He parried a jagged blade with the iron guard of his sword, pivoted, and drove his shoulder into another attacker’s chest, sending the brute sprawling. Takauji slipped into the opening created by his companion, cutting down two more with a single flowing motion. The pair moved as though they had trained together for years—Takauji’s speed creating gaps, Masashige’s strength widening them. Even surrounded, they held their ground, their blades singing through the chaos. The final orc lunged in desperation, only to be met by both warriors at once—Takauji’s blade striking with surgical precision while Masashige’s finishing blow sent the creature crashing to the dirt. Twenty orcs lay defeated, and the two warriors stood unbowed, their resolve as unbreakable as the code they followed. faerierealm: It’s the little things that count text by faerierealm image by faerierealm : https://budgetpixel.com/p/28911 Meanwhile, Gaelstrom and Emlyn respond to Red and Brunhilde's SOS. Instead of fighting their way in from the outside, Emlyn uses magic to portal directly onto the battlefield. Because why walk when you can teleport? text by CaylaCatz Before the orc captain could even register the newcomers, Gaelstrom was already in motion—blade flashing, cloak snapping like a banner in a storm. She met the captain’s jagged spellblade with a ringing clash that sent sparks spiraling into the air. The moment steel touched steel, she felt it: a cold, greedy pull, like invisible claws sinking into her spirit. Her strength bled toward the weapon in a sickening rush, the spellblade drinking her energy with ravenous delight. The captain grinned, sensing victory, pressing forward with brutal, relentless swings meant to overwhelm her before she could break free. Emlyn saw the flash of necromancer’s magic the instant the blades connected. The spellblade’s aura writhed like a hungry serpent, its enchantment designed to drain, devour, and dominate. She might have been a neophyte witch, but she knew the signature of parasitic magic well enough. And she knew something else: she didn’t have the big spells yet, the grand incantations that could shatter curses or banish dark enchantments. But she did have dozens—hundreds—of small ones. She loved to read. Read every spellbook she could. Protective charms. Wards. Shields. Little spells most mages dismissed as trivial. Emlyn didn’t dismiss anything. She flung them all. One after another, the tiny spells streaked toward the duel like glowing motes—shimmering runes, flickers of light, threads of protective energy. They clung to the spellblade like ants swarming a predator, each one insignificant alone but unstoppable together. They layered, linked, reinforced, forming a lattice of stubborn, buzzing magic that wrapped around the blade and choked its hunger. The draining pull faltered. Then stopped entirely. Gaelstrom felt the shift like a breath of fresh air after drowning. Strength surged back into her limbs, the spellblade’s grip broken by Emlyn’s relentless barrage of small magics. With renewed vigor, she pivoted, driving the orc captain back with a flurry of strikes that forced him onto his heels. The captain's confidence shattered. His weapon sputtered with blocked enchantment. And Gaelstrom, battle‑born and blazing with restored power, ended the duel with a single decisive blow that sent the huge orc crashing to the ground. The spellblade fell silent. And Emlyn, trembling but triumphant, realized she had just saved a warrior’s life with nothing more than the magic everyone else had underestimated. dirty_biker: Brotherly Love images by dirty_biker https://budgetpixel.com/p/29156 While Gaelstrom is fighting the orc captain and his evil spellblade, Brunhilde's older brothers, Bjorn and Bjarnar, gleefully arrive! More orcs surge to the center to fight them. Bjorn jovial voice shouts, "Come on Brunhilde! Let us save you again!" Bjarnar pitches in , "Third time this week! You've improved." Eternasky : Escaping Big Brothers images by Eternasky : https://budgetpixel.com/p/28927 text by CaylaCatz Brunhilde had just about enough. Her older brothers were just icing on the cake. She needs a quick break from them before she killed someone. Even better she needed to kill some orcs. Finally she could stand upright, her muscles recovering from the spellblade's draining. She pulls Red to Ciel's smart vehicle to plunge back into the battle, vent some frustrations, slaughter some orcs and of course, fight alongside their comrades. She feels more than a little pissed that they got captured in the first place, no matter they killed 61 orcs between them. It was totally unfair the orc captain used a spellblade to defeat them. Gawd, being the baby sister really sucked. dirty_biker: A Friendly Little Competition images by dirty_biker text by CaylaCatz Red and Brunhilde tore through the center ranks like a storm given wheels, their arcane thunderbike rig roaring loud enough to shake the teeth of the nearest orcs. The machine zig‑zagged in wild, impossible patterns, weaving through the horde like a streak of enchanted lightning. Before they knew it, the women's ferocious anger funneled into a fierce competition. Red called out, "That's 43 for me!" and Brunhilde gleefully replied, "Ha! I just got 46." Brunhilde yelled, "I'm at 78.. 79 ... 80....81! Red crowed, "Is that all? I'm at 85 ... 86 already! Their blades flash in tight, precise arcs clearing paths for the arriving Guild members and villages to flow into as they carved straight through the chaos, leaving dead orcs in their wake. The horde tried to close around them, but the pair moved with the reckless confidence of warriors who had survived far worse. Every twist of the handlebars sent the motorcycle skidding just out of reach, every burst from Brunhilde’s weapon scattered another cluster of foes, and every swing of Red’s blade cut through the confusion with practiced ease. Together they were a streak of motion and magic, a two‑person tempest blazing a trail through an army that had no idea how to stop them. Soon the orcs found themselves pressed on all sides, their once‑unstoppable tide broken as warriors, mages, and even pitchfork‑wielding villagers surged into the fray. Steel rang, spells flared, and battle cries rose from every corner of the field as the defenders joined the earlier heroes, turning the chaotic clash into a storm the orc horde could no longer withstand. What had begun as a desperate stand became a roaring wave of resistance, each fighter driving forward with the fierce certainty that this was their land and no brute army would claim it. The orcs buckled under the onslaught, their ranks thinning as the defenders closed in with relentless determination. One by one the towering shapes fell, until the last of them toppled beneath the combined fury of the united host. Silence rolled across the battlefield like a final blessing. The smoke drifted, the dust settled, and the people stood victorious — bruised, breathless, but unbroken. CaylaCatz: Finale: It's a Win-win (text by CaylaCatz) (this section has two storytellers: CaylaCatz and panos) In the center of the fallen dead, Red and Brunhilde reunited with Brunhilde's family. "I finished at 127", Red smiled at Bjorn Brunhilde growled, "I only got 126." Bjarnar glowed with pride at his little sister, "Only 126??? Bjorn and me only got about 80 all together. Maybe our baby sister is all grown up." He gives Brunhilde a happy hug. The archers and fae folk swept through the forest like a cleansing wind, their arrows and spells flashing between the trees until no lurking foe remained to slink back into the shadows. With the last threats driven out, the heroes converged on the four who had stood at the battle’s heart. Warriors, spellcasters, bounty hunters, mercenaries, farmers, and villagers alike trudged across the trampled field, gathering in a great ring of weary triumph. image by panos (text by panos) Red noticed a team she had spotted during her and Brunhilde's wild ride, "A thousand thanks, friend wizard!! If it weren't for you and your brave companions we would have been lost!!" The Wizard answered, "Oh, you are welcome, my friend Red!! 'Tis nothing! I heard your Call of distress and did the only thing a very clever, very wise, very, VERY handsome wizard would do! (If there are any OTHERS such, besides myself, that is!)" Brunhilde looked at him, "Hey!!! Aren't YOU the Pizza-guy?!" The Wizard, "............" (text by CaylaCatz) Emlyn knelt beside the fallen orc captain, the creature’s spellblade still humming faintly beneath his body. The weapon pulsed with a dangerous, restless energy, trying to push through Emlyn's layers of muffling spells, eager to lash out at the first fool who tried to claim it. With a grim nod, Gaelstrom tore a strip of leather from another fallen brute’s armor and handed it over. Emlyn bound the blade tight, layer upon layer, until not a whisper of its power could slip free or anyone could guess at what she carried. No trophy‑hungry mercenary or overeager villager would be taking this cursed relic home. The sword twitched once beneath the wrappings, as if resentful of its confinement, but Emlyn only tightened the final knot. “Safe enough,” she muttered, though both she and Gaelstrom knew such a thing was never truly safe—only contained. Together they lifted the bundled weapon, treating it with the wary respect one gives a sleeping serpent. "Be back in a second," Emlyn said as she teleported her dangerous donation an Ancient Library. A Libarian was wise enough—or mad enough—to store it among other such relics, keeping it from causing further ruin. Almost before Gaelstrom took a second breath, Emlyn was back smiling sunnily. CaylaCatz: Aftermath : Riverside Party Time! text by CaylaCatz, image by CaylaCatz (note, do not look too closely, the AI had difficulties getting everyone in so it's a little mucked) From the temple doors, Matthew watched with a cluster of bewildered, newly‑peaceful orcs who still blinked at the world as if seeing it for the first time. Soon the locals were guiding everyone toward a clearing by the river, eager to trade the smoke of battle for the warmth of celebration. A deer was set to roast, and casks of wine, mead, and ale arrived in steady procession as laughter began to rise like sparks from a fire. The Bard struck up a bright, rollicking tune, and others joined in with makeshift drums, coaxing dancers into the open grass. The Wizard and his merry band, the Heroes of Light and Darkness, showed they could dance as well as slay. Lirael the Crimson Rose Fairy with the other fae twirled above the crowd in a shimmer of wings. The Longfellow daughter threw herself into her family’s arms, her joy echoing across the clearing. Red’s eyes widened as she spotted her sister Rissa—who was already testing out the name Ember with a hopeful grin. Winter the Warrior shared a hearty clasp with Gaelstrom, Emlyn and the other Guild members as they sat down to feast. Calyra Flamewink traded jokes with the archers and invited a shy George to join them, having noted his skills in the forest. Ciel drove in with a new product, a large market stall on wheels with an oven and even better, the village baker who began to dispense handpies and make more on site. Too new to have a name for the vehicle yet, Ciel called it variously a rolling oven, a bakewheel, a food roamer, until someone called it a Snackcart and the name stuck. Mostly, tho, it was the delicious handpies that Ella made. The wizard and his friends, the bard, the assassin, the guild members, the mercenaries, the villagers, the farmers—every soul who had stood against the horde now laughed together beneath the settling dusk. It was a night of relief, reunion, and wild, giddy survival, the kind of victory feast legends are built on. ****** panos: Second party: Encore at the Tavern images by panos https://budgetpixel.com/p/31713 As it grew late, the farmers, merchants and others that had early work the next day. left the party. The rest, having no new battle or bounty to head off to, moved the party to the tavern. The barkeep called out the first round was on the house drawing a cheer. Then everyone settled in for a second round of revelry. text by panos Adrianna, the Vampire Countess: -'Mmm, my dear wizard, how very, VERY handsome you are!! I admit, for a long time now, I was ... UNdying - heh, see what I did there ? - to get to ...KNOW you, much, MUCH better!!' The Wizard: -'My dear Countess, what very, VERY big ... teeth you have (along with your other very, VERY big ... attributes). I have to say, though, vampires are not my thing. I must introduce you to my Big Cousin over at Pripyat - he sure LOVES vampire Beauties!. Adrianna: -'But, I simply canNOT remove myself from your side, my dear, handsome wizard. You look SO - dare I say it? - TASTY!! The wizard: -"<GULP>!!!!" Bjorn: -'By Odin, Wizard!!! You are formidable, indeed!! A real Vikinig warrior!' Bjarnar: -Aye!! We are most thankful for your valuable help in delivering our little sister and her friend! Let's drink some ale!" Bjiorn: -"Aye! Let me slap you friendly in the shoulder, friend wizard, as we viking warriors do, to show our esteem!" The wizard: - "BLUUURGG!!!" Red said, 'Thank you SO much for the valuable help of you and your brave friends, friend wizard!' The wizard replied, "'Oh, 'tis nothing, my dear Red!" Brunhilde smiled, "No! We simply MUST express our gratitude in a MOST pleasing way to you!" The wizard lit up, "You know... that actually sounds...VERY good!" Red grinned, "Yes! We we will gift you with something VERY desirable to you!" The wizard was almost gleeful, "Oooh! NOW you're talking!" Brunhilde nodded, "Something delicious! Something rich and bountiful, offering HOURS of delight!" The wizard knew he could not resist their charms, "Well, if you insist!..." Red laughed, "Can you imagine what we have in mind, friend wizard?" The wizard nodded, "Oh, I can imagine a LOT of things, right now, dear Red! I have a very active imagination, you know!" Brunhilde looked up as their gift arrived, "'Look, Pizza-Guy-Wizard! PIZZA!!!" The Wizard's shoulder slumped in disappointment, "............" The end! .... until the next adventure...