Chapter 3: Sordok

"Be silent, Naldar. They will hear you if you stamp around like a goat." A man hissed. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"You bite your tongue, you walleyed pulwamp". Naldar said as he returned the same hissing tone. Another man came up from behind them. Quiet as a mouse and smacked both arguing men's heads.

"Focus on the mission, you dolts. The caravan is still moving. Sol is cresting the horizon, and Mani is making her way." A man said it in an aggravated whisper.

The three men remained prone, slithering along the ground like the snakes around them. As they watched the torches of the mercenaries guarding the caravan, Naldar pulled a whistle from a satchel on his waist. He blew into it, but no sound came from the whistle. A dark-red creature with a heavy carpet of moss on its back roared as it ran through the caravan. Its horns destroy wheels, carts, and boxes of supplies. As the guards caught themselves in a moment of relaxation, chaos erupted into full-blown madness. A man with a big white beard started barking orders at five different men. Their language was so barbaric.

"Today is easy prey, lads." The man whispered to his companions. "The Nagalore has outdone itself today." The Leader said to himself with a smirk, "Blow the horn!" The leader barked at Naldar. Naldar quickly took hold of a meticulously carved horn and blew it. A great blast bellowed from the mouth, and more men and women started popping up from the bushes. Spears and swords at the ready, bows fully drawn back in seconds, and knocked with poison-tipped green arrows

The combat that ensued began after the guards took their defensive positions. The guards shouted a dangerous war cry as the other side shouted their own. "Sordok! Your blade!" His companion yells at him. Sordok looked at his friend and nodded. His friend tossed a sheathed, curving front blade. "Thank you for taking good care of it for me, Myulnir," Sordok said, grinning as he unsheathed his sword. The cold, pale blue steel slides smoothly from its sheath.

Myulnir grinned, drew his weapon, and charged into the fray. Sordok followed closely, and a guard approached him. The guard raises his sword and brings it crashing down in an aggravated slam. The sword screamed as it glided through the air and bit into the ground beneath Sordok. Sordok jumped, dodging the blow aimed at turning him into two halves of himself. He spun and slashed, the curved blade whistling as it cut the air and slashing the man's neck. Ripping out a chunk of the man's throat with a sickening thwack That blow had severed the man's vital blood vessel. The smell of blood and smoke quickly rose to the darkening sky as screams bellowed out into the night. The guard, without a piece of his neck, gargled. Clutching at his throat, he dropped to the ground and bled out. Sordok flicked the blood off his blade and prepared himself for the next fight. Cries of pain, rage, and war rang out through the tense night air. The sounds of armor clashing against armor and steel clashing against shields were everywhere. The smell of blood, sweat, and burning fires clouded the air.

A man came screaming at him. His eyes filled with the fire of rage. The man stopped, stood in his stance, and thrust his pike towards Sordok. Sordok moved his blade up with great speed, deflecting the blow upward. Sordok, with the speed of a tiger, dashed underneath the man's pike and brought his sword up, aiming for the man's heart. Pain rushed through his chest as he was sent flying back by a kick from the man.

"You're a bit better than most." Sordok said while getting up. He licked his lips with excitement.

"You can speak our language?" The man said this and pointed the pike at Sordok once more, ready to advance. They spoke as they circled each other. "Yes. I can, and it's quite a brutish language."

Sordok spoke with elegance and with his nose in the air.

"Don't go acting so high and mighty then. You still bleed like the rest of us. I'll make sure of that." The man said this and then spit on the ground. He threw his pike to the ground. "To hell with this weapon. I'm not a fan of it anyway." The man said this as he cracked his fingers, his shoulders, and his neck. "Come on! I am more than confident that I can take you down! Somewhat..." the man yelled with his hands up at Sordok in a weird position after he wiggled his hand a bit after the last phrase.

Sordok's eyes filled with joy as he realized he was going to have a fight with a human pugilist. "This is the sort of thing I've been waiting for! I can't believe I'm so lucky! The gods truly do love me!" Sordok thought to himself as he giggled. "Alright!" Sordok yelled as he burst into a sprint towards the man. An old man with a beard called out, "Dwelvin! No! Remember your training!" The old man was occupied with Naldar in a strength contest, but the old man was winning.

"That old man is strong... I'm happy I'm not fighting him." Sordok thought to himself with a grimace.

Sordok brought his sword up, ready to plunge it deep into Dwelvin's chest. He stabbed at the man's heart with a war cry, and he reached his target. He felt a tingle of victory as he felt the sword slide into the man's stomach. It hadn't hit his target, but disembowelment was still lethal to humans. Sordok's feet were lifted from the ground as he realized the man had grappled him. "What the hell are you doing?" Sordok yelled in frustration. Unable to pull his weapon free from the man's stomach. "You're supposed to have a sword in your guts, you barbarian!" Sordok roared in pain as he was slammed down onto the ground. His head collided with a perfectly-sized rock to sit on. Sordok blinks one time, two times, He looks to the right and sees his force being taken into custody.

"No... The humans Won?" He thought to himself. His eyes were heavy and stinging from blood leaking into them.

As he lay there and was able to look around, he saw two people approaching him. Then more than two came, and suddenly he was surrounded. He heard someone talking. "He can speak our language." He heard her in a muffled tone. His ears went mute as his vision began to fade.

"You didn't have to break his brain, Dwelvin!" the old man called out in anger.

"Good fighting, though, boy," the man said as he faded out. Their muffled speaking and the smell of blood and smoke were the last things he knew.