The River Follower

Level 8
Oct 3, 2006
Hello!! I'm not a new member here, but I'm still a newbie to what's going on.
This is the first time I've noticed that there is a fanfiction forum in this place. My english is not that good so I would like to ask some criticisms and advices from any of you readers out there.
I love orcs and would like to submit my fanfic about them.
I think that I'm still lacking lots of things when it comes to writing so I ask all of you readers to please review!!
Tnx in advance.

Here's the Prologue of my story, and some added info.

®e\tLCorylon= City
Sentara= Sune High Priestess
Gustav Gonghammer= General of Corylon’s forces
Skurai= Orc prisoner
Morak Deathsong= Orc hordeboss
Rurak= Mayor of Corylon
The River Follower

Skurai’s body went rigid. He had hoped his face didn’t betray him. He hoped the new tears welling in his eyes would be attributed to the pricking of the needles on his forehead. He looked around the room and on his green skinned reflection in the mirror that he once thought was beautiful, and then allowed his real thoughts to come out and consume his heritage as an orc. Out they came, one by one. The place was tacky as hell, the man was hideous, and the beautiful tattoo being inked on his forehead was the ugliest thing in the world.


Sentara walked in the marble platforms of the temple, she wore a sleeveless silken white gown fitted tight to her body. A bit of cut came out on the side in a lower portion of the robe showing off her legs. Her black hair seemed as if it had been combed every minute past her life. Her white skin bristled with a little bit of redness, as if her entire body seemed to blush a little. Her blue eyes stared imperatively on the high-priests of the temple of Tyr. She wore an imperative look that of a queen, and even those haughty gestures she made was unable to hide the gentleness in her face. Women who wore similar robes followed on her back, the priests of Tyr could well determine that this woman was their superior. Judging from the fact that she wore the heart shaped pendant emblazoned with tiny jewels on its sides, and the circlet she wore on her forehead that symbolized herself as the high priestess of Sune.
Sentara raised a hand to her left and the women that followed her stopped. Then as she took a bow in her head to the high priests in front of her the women on her back knelt. “My priestesses have come here as you have asked Chelon.” She speaks those words in a friendly way as she finishes her bow.
The priests of Tyr could not help but stare at the beauty carved in this woman. She was beautiful beyond all odds, and her posture carried with her an aura of grace as she moved in the platform swaying her hips womanly. She was the high priestess of Sune, the Lady Firehair the goddess of everything that is beautiful, of love and of passion. If it weren’t for Chelon’s words the apprentices would never have taken away their sight of the lady.
“Fair met Sentara! Your help will be most beneficial to us, the healing powers your priestesses carry is one of the best there is in our forces.” Chelon’s words were a little calm. His old age was coming up to him. There was a huge sign of baldness in his head. Covered by his thin white hair that hang to almost any side the high priest’s appearance seemed more of a old man who knew nothing about war rather than a battling high priest of Tyr. He carried within himself an aura of power, boosting up the confidence of the two priests that sat on his side.
“My priestesses only aid your men because the enemy is something that’s value could not be changed.” Sentara’s voice was calm and friendly, but there was something imperative and demanding about the tone that she carried right now compared to before, “If the enemy were men, and if the battle was a lasting one, I would not send Sune’s magic to heal the wounded of your men, for they will only bring death upon themselves if they go back to the battle.”
“I shall not forget that my lady.” Chelon replied.
“Then it is done my good friend, I just hope that this battle would finish itself quickly. And that less death would come to the citizens of Corylon.” Sentara replied back.
“Do not fear my lady. For my scouts have already predicted the plans of our enemy, and this defense will end up as another victory to our city with less of our casualties..thanks to ye.” Gustav Gonghammer spoke in the audience. He was standing beside Chelon and his two priests. Sentara and the other apprentices could not help but stare at the wonder carved in this man’s legend. He was the general of the military forces of Corylon, the epitome of justice and purity in the city’s influence. He had survived hundreds of battle in his life, and all of those battles were victories carved by his unstoppable prowess in the field of warfare. Starting his legend in becoming a captain of Cormyr’s infantry elite when he was twelve, and continuing it today, when the army of Morak Deathsong had marched to destroy their beloved city, Gustav had won the trust and the hearts of many people of Corylon, Sentara included, and even she, as a high priestess of a goddess of love could not help but wonder at the presence of this man. She did well enough to hide this feeling inside her though, for they were inside the Temple of Tyr, and at the same time, the courtroom of Corylon.
The apprentices could not help but envy at the sight of this great man. Even the presence of Rurak the mayor of Corylon in the audience seemed to diminish from the grace Gustav carried by his mere presence alone.
The priestesses of Sune tried to get a sneak peek on the man as they bowed low but found his position to high on the stairs above. Sentara on the other hand gave a calm smile to Gustav, she held out her hands, then placed its forearm on her navel giving another bow to the royal court.
Rurak the mayor of Corylon sat on a wooden chair beside Chelon and his two priests, the chairs circled a huge marble table which Gustav’s plans on the defense of the city was laid. He turned to regard Sentara and gave her another warm smile. “Please do accompany us high priestess that you may know of the plans of our defense.” Rurak spoke. Gustav turned to face his master and pulled a chair to allow the high priestess to seat.
Sentara waved the court room her palm. She placed her chin high and spoke. “Nay, my place is not in the battlefield. But I assure you that our aid is open to Corylon. My priestesses must hurry and prepare our prayers and spells for the night, we shant waste time in listening to something we were not created to perform.”
Rurak gave the high priestess a warm smile and raised his hand as soon as Sentara lowered hers. “Then go. Your mirth towards the aid of Corylon is always admired my priestess.” He then turns to Gustav and gave a slight nod, indicating that the General should now be back in his seat.
As Sentara and her priestesses turned to leave the temple the audience of Corylon all turned their heads on the group. Their movements were tantalizing and magnificent, these women were one of the biggest prides of Corylon. Aside from possessing magic strong enough to battle against a major city of Faerun the priestesses of Sune were all extremely beautiful. They could not imagine if one these women would fall to the hands of the orc hoards that scoured Corylon. They would fight to the death to defend their precious treasure. Some of the people in the audiences were lucky enough to be the husband of a fellow priestess in the temple of Sune, farmers, bakers or maybe even innkeepers. These citizens whose prowess came not from battle change their ways of life just for a time being, it is because of the power the priestesses carry, to change a skill from lifestyle into warfare, only so that they could defend their beautiful wives, which was the symbol of their success, or perhaps, the greatest thing that had ever happened in their lives. And so, the people of Corylon swore, that they would fight the orc hoard of Morak Deathsong, even if it was not their path.
As Gustav sat back on his chair looking at the eyes of several officials of Corylon, including Chelon and the mayor Rurak, he couldn’t help but mention the danger the orc hoard carried. Morak Deathsong’s army had outnumbered them twenty to one, and even the great general found it painful to create a promise to his priestess, a promise of victory with little casualties. But in reality, he wasn’t sure, he was never sure.


Skurai skidded along the vast encampment set up in the hills of Duloin, a few kilometers away from the walled city of Corylon. Babblings and shouts would be heard in all his two ears. Most of them could not be understood. Most of them were the painful screams of agony as orcs in the encampment fought one another. Such an act was common to orc culture, the green skinned brutes always found it hard to get along with each other.
Nobody dared try to attack him though. Everyone feared him. As a lieutenant in the army of Morak Deathsong, Skurai had earned the reputation to be one of the most powerful orcs in the hoard. His muscles were well built; the same as any orc muscle was built.
The only difference was that his height covered most of the bloated body an orc has, making him look a lot slimmer than any orcs. His muscles were very well toned, shaping along perfectly, and standing firm as hard as a rock due to the training he received as a champion of Morak Deathsong, Great Warboss of the Deathsong Hoard. He’s height proved that to be tall, in fact too tall for an orc. His seven foot height towered even the great Morak Deathsong himself. And perhaps this was one of the reasons why the orcs in the hoard feared him. His skin was colored lightly green, making him seem more like an ordinary orc. Two big tusks bulged out in both molars of his mouth, pointing up towards his dark greedy reptilian eyes. His high chin made him look vile, and with the creepy combination of his eyes, he seemed more of a lunatic than a proper war lieutenant, but to the orc’s culture that was too common. His hair was extremely long (part of orc fashion), it ran down his back, bulging out to almost all sides of his body like spikes.
He tried to walk his way towards the amassing crowd. There he would encounter hits in his shoulder from another orc’s shoulder. Bumps were very common in this hoard since their number was more than legion, and retiring from a hoard was not very common among hoards. The army that Skurai was part of socialized in the plains, it was worse than a market, it seemed like the orcs of Morak Deathsong and Skurai were fishes, all hauled into a huge net, tacky as hell, and as crowded as an ant’s nest.

The purpose of an orc hoard is to ravage and pillage everything on their sight for land, conquest and power. They would never stop their destructive wake, pillaging one town after the other until the numbers of the hoard reduced to something incapable of pillages. Only then would the remaining hoard members retire. Only then would the orcs dwell peacefully, mating among orc women or other female races of Faerun rapidly like maggots. Then when the numbers of their offspring’s become too big for their family to supply food with, they form another hoard and start off pillaging villages again until their numbers reduced again. Such was the life of an orc like Skurai.
Not too many orcs know of this lifestyle. All they did was go along with the flow of massacre and fighting, realizing the orc’s hoard cycle of life only moments later when the hoard that he had belonged too was destroyed. Then that orc would live an ordinary orc life, most living in the tunnels and caves like an ordinary orc and mating with those female orcs bearing equine faces. Some of those hoard survivors would live in the land, creating another breed of a small orc civilization in the soils of Faerun who in almost every hour of their life would feel the painful rays of the hot sun. And unfortunately for Skurai, he was one of these orcs who knew nothing about the ways of the hoard cycle. Ah, yes, Skurai was just an ordinary orc, dumb, ugly, and evil. And he joined the Deathsong Hoard only so that he could make a living for himself in Faerun, only so that his curiosity of the upper-world might be filled, only so that he would know what it feels like to battle against the famous creatures of the upper world. He wanted to test his strength in this world, and most of all came the most important purpose as to why curiosity came over to him.
Skurai wanted to make a name for himself in the pantheon’s of his orc gods. And for that purpose alone, drove him to the glorious but evil campaign of the Deathsong Hoard. He did not care what Morak’s plans for the orc hoard was. All he wanted was to sate his thirst for curiosity and to sate his hunger for battle. As an orc, Skurai marveled at everything that was new to him. He feared magic, but he also respected it in a sense because of the hidden mysteries hidden beneath its power.
He had never thought of learning magic before. All he knew was that he wanted to see it. And he himself, as an orc who knew absolutely nothing about spellcraft wanted nothing than to defeat magic, by the orc way of defeating things, sheer, brutish and unstoppable strength.
He was on his twentieth year as an orc, and he knew he would not live long to make a name for himself in the orc pantheon. He was in a hurry in his quest of becoming a legend. He was an orc, harsh and quick, always in a hurry.
Little did Skurai know that this campaign would change his entire life.
Level 8
Oct 3, 2006
I'd be glad to create a cinematic, it's just that I don't have that much time.

BUT It'd be superlong if I made a cinematic about it.
That's coz the post I posted is only the prologue, there are still more chapters to this one.

Sango = Orc lieutenant with tons of weapons
Zugbo = Orc champion of Morak Deathsong, and great with unarmed combat

The orcs in the area were forming a huge circle, the green skinned brutes crowding everywhere on all sides of the circle swarmed like carrions. Weapons were on their hands, some of it flailing wildly in the air with abandon, swinging back and forth as if the orc wielding the weapon was the only creature in the circle. Small or huge droplets of saliva blurted out from their mouths as they went in cries of lust and happiness, never thinking that the waters that came out of their mouth as they screamed in pleasure had splattered itself on another orc’s body. They did not care; they never cared for the well being of their fellow orcs. They were here for one purpose, and one purpose only, and that was to see bloodshed, to see a fight to the death between two great orc warriors of the army.
Some of the orcs pushed the other so that they could get a better glimpse of the battle raging in the middle of the circle. Most of them gave an elbow to another, not because there was a purpose to it, but because the orc just found it amusing the get his annoying fellow orc get hurt by him.
The orc getting bruised would then turn its head left and right to discover who was giving him the invisible attack. Then it would scratch its head after its exploration deemed useless. Some would even accuse an innocent orc on the circle whose sole purpose was to only watch the fight. There would be no apologies, but swift and sudden vengeance. A huge punch would be delivered to its face, or maybe a grip on its neck followed by a loud questioning scream which really isn’t a question saying “Yer da one ‘o ‘it me weren’t ya?”. The poor orc would shake its head to confirm its innocence, and after that his nose would be bleeding, and he would be lying face down on the ground from a solid punch delivered by the stupid accuser.

In the back of the circular crowd of orcs was an elevated soil, more like a hill than a mound. In that high elevation stood the banner of Morak Deathsong, and standing on the banner staring down at the center of the circular orc gathering stood the great orc warboss himself.
His crown made from the head of a gigantic werewolf he had killed in his early adventures seemed as if it consumed his entire head, its unmoving fangs crippling numbly up at his forehead and down at his chin, its eyes mysteriously maintaining its reddish glow even though it no longer bore life. His leather armor made from the hide of a bristleback and plucked with the feathers of a dark wolf made him look more of a lycantrophe than an orc. He carried a huge great sword strapped on his back, and it was said that whatever wound inflicted by that sword could not heal back again. He was Morak Deathsong, leader and ruler of the Deathsong army, and champion of Gruumsh.
On his left were three of his shamans. Wearing colorful costumes that plumed wildly out of their ragged straps like leaves, the shamans’ eyes stared gleefully at the bloodbath about to begin in the circle. Their hands carrying wands made of crooked wooden branches with dried leaves and bones stitched to a thick string on its tip.
On his right were four of his war lieutenants. All of them wearing huge leather armors made from the hide of cows, their shoulder pads made of metal were painted with a black inadvertent skull, showing off the insignia of the Deathsong clan. Their pants and boots were made of ragged leather armor, torn and wearied from the scales of battle. It was stitched back with strings, but the craftwork in repairing those wearied armor seemed less than good. They wore a metallic war painted skullcap on their head, with a nose protector running down between their eyes. They carried multiple weapons for battle of sort, a hand axe and a tomahawk strapped on the left hip by a leather belt, there was also a small wooden buckler on their back accompanied by a bow and arrow strapped by another leather belt that ran across their torso laterally, then on their right hip held more than a dozen daggers, strapped by another leather belt and clinking wildly as they moved. They were looking at each other, perhaps taking time to enjoy themselves at the battle that was about to happen in the circle.
“Look closely and witness the talent manifested by our orc heritage.” Morak gave a whisper to his lieutenants as he stood tall placing on of his furry gloves on the banner. Such things were needed since these four orcs compared to Morak were nothing more than ordinary brainless brutes. And he needed to teach his secrets to them so that the legacy of the Deathsong hoard would not perish. Morak was no ordinary orc, he was talented in almost all aspects included in warfare. Plus his charisma toward the orc hoards was beyond epic. The orcs worshipped him as if he was some kind of god in mortal form. His biggest strategy was the ability to speak of something out of exaggeration, making the curious normal fellow orcs admires him of this power. The orcish power of bluffing and diplomacy were normally low, or sometimes orcs were incapable of such skills, and it is because of this that Morak Deathsong is able to rally tens and thousands of orcs to his cause - Exaggerating his promises of victory and conquest, inspiring fellow orcs with never before heard speeches that blended well with their brutal and savage nature.
Morak Deathsong was one in a million, and his prowess in battle was unmatched, this is because his fighting skills blended with sheer brute strength and orcish magic, no foe of his had lived to tell the tale about a duel with this vicious orc. His techniques in battle were weird, combining strength, speed agility and magic, and not even the orc shamans of Morak could decipher the true nature of his art. Some say that he had been granted the power of the lycantrophe from the wolf helmet he carried on his head and that he could transform himself into a werewolf, maximizing his speed and strength three folds towards an ordinary mortal.
Skurai was the first one to notice Morak, he quickly turned his head to the left to eye his great warboss with a loyal and stupid look, he didn’t say anything, what he did was just move his head up and down emphasizing a nod.
Morak gave the young orc manly grin, his tusk protruding badly in his left cheek. He did not speak to the young one for three of his lieutenants still needed attention.
The other orc lieutenants on the other hand weren’t paying attention to Morak’s little whisper, they were so concentrated on the fight happening below the circular gathering of orcs.
Skurai turned his eyes to his three fellow lieutenants and gave a loud cough to distract them of their concentration…no response. He made his cough louder than before that even the shamans were able to hear him. And when the three lieutenants turned their heads from the fight to their warboss, Morak Deathsong gave the young orc warrior a comforting but ugly grin.
“Oh boss, I’m sorry, the fight wuz really good and I couldntz, err…” The orc lieutenant known as Sango bent his head down low as he spoke towards his warboss with respect and apology.
Morak did not shudder. He let the issue slip this time since no one was really wrong about it. “Just watch the fight, and see if you canz get some good stuff in it or two.” He waved his hand forward to the fight below and gave a calm and bored look.
The lieutenants then turned their head and concentrated on the fight below. Skurai was one of them, but he really didn’t care about these things. He was the last one to turn his head away from Morak and look at the fight. Morak patted him on the shoulder as he did not look, Skurai could feel the strength in those orcs fingers, even his shoulder pads seemed to bend its surface as Morak’s wolf gloves gripped on it tightly. Skurai could feel the orc waboss’s grip. He gave an assuring smile without looking at his leader’s face and tried to concentrate on the fight again.

Two grunts who were the competitors of the nights show banged their heads together as both their hands gripped its enemy’s hand. Blood oozed out of their foreheads as they locked stares towards each other. Their grips crushing their hands, but they hardly seemed to notice the pain or the bloodloss they had received in the fight. Nor could they hear the shouts and cheers of the orc audience circling in on them. They were both focused on one thing, and that was kill the other competitor, winning the fame of an orc champion of Morak Deathsong and having the privilege of leading one of Morak’s platoons on the assault towards Corylon tomorrow.
The orc competitor known as Zugbo could feel the strength of his enemy fading away. He could tell from the equilibrium of their banged foreheads that this orc competitor he was facing right now was shaking from its bruises. He tried to strengthen both his grip towards the enemy’s hand grip, but his orc enemy did not seem to give up. Instead of giving in on his strength the enemy of Zugbo tightened its grip more, making the wrestling of their hands more tiresome for Zugbo than ever. Zugbo gritted his teeth as he matched the orcs hand grip with his own.
He eyed the orcs eyes and saw that they were now trying their best to look unshaken, but its eyes betrayed it, and Zugbo could see that he was winning. Even now he could feel his hand grip conquering the fellow orc competitor’s.
He strengthened his grip more and screamed in a sudden barbarian rage, denying himself of the pain and the fatigue he felt from the wrestling match. So strong was his grip and so big was the boost of his strength that his enemy knelt down on one knee as Zugbo strengthened his push more, their foreheads still touching one another, and their eyes never letting go of each other’s gaze.
Then the fellow orc competitor screamed again, denying himself also of the pain and fatigue that he felt.
Zugbo could feel it, could feel the strength of his enemy increasing by two folds. Even now he could feel its hand grip matching his. He screamed again and removed his forehead from his enemy’s, giving his head some momentum for a head butt. Then it connected, Zugbo’s forehead smashing against his enemy’s forehead. Tiny droplets of blood flew out as the two orcs’s foreheads capsized. Zugbo’s forehead seemed to be the stronger, and even the audience circling them could see that his enemy was dazed from the blow. Zugbo screamed, then delivered another head butt, then another, and another making the fellow competitor unconscious, his body lying flat on the ground and his arms spread laterally by Zugbo’s hand grip. The orcs on the area cheered and screamed with jealousy and amusement as the champion of Morak Deathsong emerged out of the bloody battle victorious, then they screamed some more as Zugbo delivered another head butt towards the unconscious orc, shattering its skull and spilling blood and gore on the arena.
As Skurai watched he did not care if Zugbo won or not. Skurai never cared. He had other plans, and that was to become the successor of Morak’s great hoard.
Level 8
Oct 3, 2006
Hello again!! To those who's been reading this I just wanna tell you all that chapter 2 is now up.

River Follower


Bottles were being distributed in order in the table. There were bandages rolled neatly and some tools needed in healing cuts or wounds from battle were organized neatly in the bags of the clerics of Sune. The temple was busy tonight. Almost all of the clerics of Sune’s temple stood in the infirmary, wearing nothing but their red robes of silk that almost covered their entire body they jumbled out in all corners, organizing healers-kits and healing potions for the casualties of a battle soon to emerge in Corylon.

“Oh how I wish things were like this always in the temple.” Ara frowned. Sweat was dripping down her forehead as her fingers mingled with the healers-kit. “Things always get pretty boring everyday doing the same old chores we apprentices do.”

“Where’s your seriousness girl?” Mina looked at her in a way a woman looks at a child. “There’s a big possibility that a battle will erupt in our city tomorrow. Aren’t you a little bit worried?”

Ara stared at the woman, and then she smiled, her curved lips inviting a sense of beauty in that gesture. “I know that…it’s just that..” Then her face gave out a confusing look. “It’s just that in this way we can at least do something more important than hang around Sune’s chambers praying and do some beauty..”

“You think that praying is not that important for Sune?” Mina gave a shocked look as she replied.

“No!!..No..not that!” Ara seemed lost in her words. She wiped the sweat in her forehead as she continued. “I mean, this thing we are doing right now seems bigger of service in Corylon than Sune.” She was now rolling a piece of cloth in a smooth manner with her hands

“Oh you wouldn’t know anything about Sune!” Mina smiled and shook he head slowly in disappointment. “You’ve never even tasted her magic yet. The power brought forth by the beauty and passion she delivers to us.”

Ara seemed at a loss in the conversation and decided to give up. “Well you can’t blame me. I’m new to the temple, and hopefully I can interpret better about the views of your so called passion of Sune.”

“You know what? You speak like a guy.” Mina laughed merrily. It was heartwarming and inoffensive. But she could see Ara pouting her lips in disappointment at her gesture.

“Anyway, we are doing Corylon and Sune a favor by saving the lives of Corylians. So this job is indeed more important than everyday duties in the temple.” Ara replied. She was now rolling a piece of cloth in a smooth manner with her hands. She had lost eye contact at Mina and her hands seemed to work gracefully as she finished rolling up the bandage, placing it inside a leather bag big enough to carry five potions of healing and some tools needed in binding wounds.

Mina gave an approving nod and smiled at her little sister. Ara was 17 and a year younger than her when she was introduced to the temple of Sune. She had always admired the way her little sister took things that were related to helping others happily. She wished she had that passion, to work a little harder and to spend a little more time in doing what was beneficial to the beloved races of Sune. And because of this she was proud of her little sister. She looked at her more, already noticing before that her sister was no longer looking at her, but at the healers-kit she had just packed up inside the bag.

“Sister?” Ara suddenly spoke, she turned her head in such a fast manner to look at Mina that her startled older sister turned her head back at the table, blushed, and started to work on the mixing of her potions, an art Ara was still ignorant of.

“What is it?” Mina spoke, her eyeballs rolling to the side where her sister was at, making the situation look as if she was still staring at the potions. But her hands had stopped pouring the ingredients, symbolizing the fact that she was disrupted.

“She’s pretty isn’t she?” Ara looked in the ceiling to hide her fantasizing.


“The lady Mistress.”

“Miss Sentara?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen anybody as beautiful as the high priestess herself.” Ara gave a envious but friendly frown in her face. “At my first glance of her I thought she was a goddess. Her beauty captivated most of the men at Corylon, I could even hear some of our neighbors talking about her. Even father and mother boast proudly of Miss Sentara to us, and to the merchants outside Corylon.”

“Well that’s because she is blessed.” Mina replied neutrally.

“I hope that I’ll get the chance to become as beautiful as her.” Ara glanced forwards as she spoke. Her eyes showed signs of pure admiration.

Mina turned to look at her and was not surprised. She was also glad that there were no signs of jealousy or envy in her younger sister’s face.

“Do not worry my little sister. That is the gifts of Sune to us priestesses.” Mina gave her a reply filled with assurance and confidence. “And I do not think you’ll have to worry about being beautiful. Haven’t you already captivated the hearts of many men in Corylon to call yourself beautiful?” She smiled at her more, showing off her dimples on he cheeks. Her beauty seemed to increase as her mirth came. Ara looked at her.

“Oh? But I still have a lot more to worry about, namely my sister, who has outmatched me in beauty.” Ara replied to her coyly.

The two ladies who were chattering in the infirmary were too busy to notice the tall brunette standing behind them carrying with the crown of the high priestess of Sune on her forehead.

Sentara gave a low cough. She placed her hands on her mouth to cover anything that would come out of it. Although the cough was loud enough for the two ladies in front of her to hear it was not intentional in a way that water would blurt out of her lips.

Mina was the first cleric to realize that her mistress was listening to their girlish chattering. She turned her head to the back and gave a shocked expression, then a normal and welcoming one. And after that, she gave a light elbow to her younger sister to catch Ara’s attention.

“Oh Miss Sentara I didn’t know that you were listening to us.” Ara was at a loss. The only things that came out of her mouth were random words made to heighten up the conversation.

Mina had just finished with her packing when she was forced to turn her head at the back from her sister’s elbow. She turned to see a smiling Sentara looking at her. The High Priestess’s smile was heartwarming and lovely. Her beauty seemed to shine through Ara’s eyes, making them itchy.

“Miss Sentara….I’ve just finished.” Ara spoke blankly.

Sentara gave a chuckle, and Mina couldn’t help but stare at the two with confusion.

“My sister is new to the temple. But she is willing to serve Sune the same way as I am. Please excuse her…” Mina bowed low as she speaks towards the high priestess.

Sentara placed her hands on Ara’s, and then she gripped them warmly. “Ah, but what beauty does youth give. I can tell from you my faithful priestess that you will be blessed always.”

Ara could not help but blush from the comment. She turned her attention from Sentara to the bandages, bright red flushing from her cheeks. Then she turned to face her mistress once again, she and Mina both.

Sentara removed her hands and placed them on her breasts, clasping each other she orders them to get on with what they were supposed to be doing. “Continue, time is passing, and the men of Corylon must have most of the help in needs in order to survive.”

The two ladies gave a nod. They turned to each other and flushed from their blandness. They bowed low towards their mistress and smiled back. Their faces filled with adore towards their beloved high priestess. They felt unnerved by the high-priestess’s presence, as if a goddess had looked upon them. They felt blessed. And so they stared at their mistress like eager fans.

Sentara replied to the two with another bow and they went on with their duties. Having one last look at the place she turned towards the infirmary’s exit. The priestesses all stopped short with their duties as she passed by, perhaps to glance at her presence or two.

Just outside the infirmary door a man stood. He wore the blue clothes of a commoner, but his presence alone made the priests and the priestesses strolling in the garden look. His long yellow hair flowed down his back like a mane. His lovely face was so beautiful that if it weren’t for his well toned body, he would be considered a girl. Two men-at-arms stood at his back., both of them turning their heads this and that to take a look at the beautiful sceneries of the garden of Sune. He was Gustav Gonghammer, the protector of Corylon, and the best of its warriors.

Gustav stood on the pathway straight. Holding his chin somewhat down to keep a low profile inside this place which warriors were not welcome at he felt nervous as he kept his profile low. He turned to look down at the stone he was standing at, marveled at the designs of Sune’s garden for a while, then looked up again to ready himself for the high priestess’s arrival. The pathway to the infirmary was carved with circular slabs of stone placed on the ground one by one to carve a road towards the gate.

He shrugged as he saw the high priestess Sentara come out of the door. They were staring at each other eye to eye as the lady made her exit.

Gustav gulped for a moment, he did well to hide his nervousness in the temple from his men, but Sentara’s eyes could penetrate through those defenses, she knew he was anxious.

They were not lovers, but their positions and the rumors in the city brought up sauce to their relationship. Somehow, someway, when the two would meet in meetings privately due to certain responsible duties brought to them by the officials, they would all feel anxious.

She was the most beautiful woman in the city of Corylon, men and women boasted that talent outside the city walls, there was no doubt about that.

He was loved by all women. They admired him because of the genius he brought forth in battle, and adored him because of the charm he brought in the public when he wasn’t facing his enemies.

Such was what the two thought. They knew that no other person in Corylon could fill up the place as the other’s lover besides them. But duty bounds them apart from each other. And perhaps it was only infatuation and the power of romantic rumors were what brought them to adore each other.

But every time they met there would always be that tingling satisfaction, that unexplainable feeling of pleasure to long for the other’s acceptance and love. Sentara did well to hide it, by showing her usual warm and merry gesture towards Gustav, that look that she had carried always, that look that brought forth grace in her beauty. It was a factor that polished her charm in the public more. It was a sense of balance to what is amazing to the eyes of others, to move with grace followed by once appearance and body, which was the best sauce for lust.

She smiled at the general, that warm smile that had conquered the hearts of millions. He felt refreshed, eager to bring forth something outside his lips, and before he could even say something, Sentara went ahead of him.

“My priestesses are ready.” It was made in a manner casual enough in the meeting. “You can count on the blessings of Sune for this battle we are about to endure.”

Gustav shrugged, but he did well to hide the feeling. He suddenly bolstered his muscles more, keeping his stomach tucked in and his chest heave out. Then he gave a gracious bow to the high-priestess of Sune. “I thank you mistress of Sune. The temples help shall always be important to Corylon.”

“Why is it that you carry a look so worrying General Gustav? You see somewhat unsure?” Sentara’s face was a little curious, it did not appear in a mocking matter but instead it resembled her love for Gustav.

He was surprised by the question, never has Sentara spoke so openly towards him before. Maybe he should let the issue slip out. But it was true. He was afraid, and neither Sentara nor any of the citizens of Corylon knew the danger that befell them right now. Morak’s army was the largest thing that had come to oppose them. Perhaps this was the last time that he would see Sentara again. Perhaps he would fall in battle, and the citizens that once loved him would weep for it. And what of his love for Sentara? Would it just go down in his dreams as he ventures in heaven?

“The army that we face milady, it is something we have never faced before. I fear that…” He would never say it in front of her, never admit it that the city would fall. He would die before that happens.

Sentara patted him on the shoulder. Even she herself was surprised by the sudden casualness she showed to him, perhaps because it was from the strange look on Gustav’s face, that look of fear and doom, that look of fear and doom about dying and leaving behind ones love, never being able to confess it.

“You are a great soldier Gustav Galdamer of Corylon, and your love for our city is something I have never seen nor heard of before. All the people here believe in your capabilities and your loyalty to the city. Rest assured that you have the blessing of Sune to shield your body and spirit as you ride towards the enemies of Corylon.” Then after this she placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. “A blessing, from the goddess herself.”

He shrugged, then blushed as Sentara withdrew her hands from his cheeks and drew her head back to stare at him with a heartwarming smile. He gave a salute then, perhaps the most formal thing he had ever done to the high-priestess. “The forces of Morak Deathsong will never be enough to defeat the goodness that flows inside of Corylon. And by my hammer I will assure of that.”

Oh but how he felt like a child that time, eager and pleased from the high-priestess’s kiss, a spell for victory, and what a powerful spell it was. He stiffened as he saw Sentara bow low while clasping her hands down, and then bowed back. He could feel the stares of his men on his back, and he never knew if they were mocking them or admiring him of his fortune, he focused on Sentara and none alone.

“Fare met brave general of Corylon, until we meet again when the tides of war have ended.” Sentara turned back and went inside the infirmary.

“Fare met beautiful worshipper of Sune.” He turned around to his men bearing huge smiles of bliss. “Let us go. We have a battle to win.”