The morning air was damp and chill as they exited the hall into the yard. They could now get a proper look at the building, pick out the details that had been hidden in the torchlight of the previous evening. They could see that the blue paint was faded and cracking, desperately in need of a new coat. Many of the windows had the gloom of empty rooms inside, stacks of things in white sheets speaking of once busy offices converted to storage. And yet the building had a firmness to it. Winifred and Wakesfield noticed the hidden defensive additions, what may or may not have been small murder-holes in between windows and the heavy metal shutters painted to blend into the walls. Despite the need for some upkeep, it was clear the building was designed to withstand a siege. Even the design, as Naran thought on it, was simple. There had been no doors outside the two yards, anyone seeking entry would have to place themselves between two galleries of potential archers and shooters. Felix gazes up at the roof, a simple iron and stone parapet wrapping around the top of the building, and idly mused that it looked like there were curves and shapes that could fit a cauldron or siege weapon. He had seen similar construction in the arena, for the occasional audience participation event. He idly mused on that as he puffed on the unlit pipe and the entered then yard.

  The yard was clearly a training ground, and there were few occupants this time of the morning. Three young people were swinging staffs against training dummies, running drills and adding a steady rhythm to the background noise of the yard as they ran through the same three blows repeatedly. They were waved over to a fenced off section by a large orc, standing in a fighting square sitting on a raised platform of wood and filled with sand. He beamed as they approached, large tusks jutting proudly from his jaw as he smiled at them. He wore only plain leather trousers and boots, his bare hairy chest already slick with sweat despite the morning chill. Muscles flexed under his grey skin, though he also bore a fairly large gut. The five stood at the edge of the arena, looking up at him. He stood easily 2 heads taller than Fuath, and the extra height of the square added to the effect.

  He clapped his hands, and bellowed out a greeting. “Welcome then ye brave aspirants! I am Uzul, here to put you through the physical portion of your interviews!” he gestured wildly as he spoke, every sentence accompanied by a flex of muscle or a swing of his arms. “With me stand my companions!” He gestured, and 3 more figures emerged from behind a pile of hay bales. Two were also orcs, dressed as Uzul in simple trousers and boots, showing off muscular frames. One stood taller but leaner than Uzul, with a similar grey skin, taking in the group with a blank stare. The other orc stood shorter than the other two with a dull green colour to his skin, and had what looked like dirt and a small plant woven into his hair. A small green vine standing upright wobbled in the air as they approached the ring and leaned on the fence. The fourth was an ogre, much larger than the orcs and had evidently been crouching down to remain hidden. By the addition of a large leather strap across the chest for modesty the five took her as female, though there was little else to distinguish her from the orc guard they had previously met. She gave a friendly wave as she approached, and as she turned to the side they saw the back of her skull bore what looked like a missing section, the back showing a deep dip in the pale orange skin about the size of a fist. The three took up positions on the fence either side of Uzul in the ring, facing the five, and Uzul flexed again. “We are” he paused as each of the four assumed a threatening stance, their muscles rippling under their skin. “THE SKULL SMASHERS!” he roared, his deep voice echoing around the yard and causing the three trainees to stumble and turn to look.

  The five stared at them, with Fuath enthusiastically applauding. Felix nodded approvingly. “Fine intro, nice and enthusiastic” he commented, his teeth clamped on his pipe. The Skull Smashers looked somewhat deflated. Wakesfield polished his glasses. Uzul coughed awkwardly.

  “So, uh, plan is we’re gonna have some quick combat trials. 1 on 1 mostly, except Girot” he indicated one thumb towards the ogre “who’ll be handling a 2 on 1. We’ll give you a bit to choose your weapons, and any bits of gear you feel appropriate. We go until one side submits, alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and turned to speak with his team. The five idly headed for the nearby weapon rack in silence. It was loaded with wooden weapons of all types, even a few rifles and bows with accompanying arrows ending in soft pouches. Wakesfield examined the rifles curiously.

  “Certainly a…memorable introduction” commented Winifred, taking a blunted wooden short sword and wooden baton.

  “The Orc language has an emphasis on physical actions as part of the tongue” replied Wakesfield, examining the ammo pouches. “The posing is most likely part of the name, conveying strength and confidence.”

  Naran looked at him, a wooden club and flimsy looking shield in her hands. “Is that so? I believe that explains an encounter I had once.”

  “I thought it was very exciting” said Fuath, looking over the weapon rack. “They looked so impressive, like book characters come to life.”

  “Weren’t bad alright” agreed Felix, idly giving a wooden sword a test swing. He had strapped a small wooden buckler to his other arm. “They’d do well in the arena, crowd always eats that up. Best brace yourselves though, they ain’t jus’ posin’.”

  They turned to look at him. “You sound a touch concerned, should we be?” asked Winifred, pausing with the rapier in front of her.

  Felix tapped the tobacco out of the pipe onto the ground and stowed it away in a small pouch on his waist. “I know a rookie rush when I see it. Best I figure is they hopin’ to scare us off, prolly think the dwarf fella jus’ bein’ a fool.”

  Naran rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You believe they will attempt to hurt us then.”

  “Nothin’ permanent I’d expect, jus’ enough we rethink the recruitment offer.”

  Wakesfield finished loading a rifle, and slung it over his shoulder. He had another over the other shoulder, and held one ready in his hands. “If the money is as good as the dwarf promised, they’ll have to try quite hard to dissuade myself.”

  Fuath radiated excitement, and spun a wooden staff he had chosen, passing it between his hands as it increased in speed. “’Adversity is merely the grindstone that sharpens us’, as said Saint Tillian.”

  Winifred stepped slightly away from Fuath and the spinning staff. “They wanted me cleaning floors” she said quietly. “I didn’t suffer three years of training for that.”

  Naran looked at her curiously. “You remember something?”

  Winifred gave a sigh of annoyance. “Not much details, just the skills I trained and that it was very unpleasant.” She wrinkled her forehead for a moment, straining to catch the memory. “It’s a blurry mess of being shouted at and cold rain. More of a feeling than a memory.”

  Felix hitched up his belt. He had added some iron shin guards, and an iron vambrace and couter on his sword arm. “Well I’ve seen you fight, so that’s one hell of a feelin’ now ain’t it?” He started towards the fighting square. “Y’all mind if I take the first go?”

  Uzul still waited in the square, now holding a large wooden long handled axe. Despite the blunt edge, it could clearly break bones if swung strongly enough. Felix looked unconcerned as he climbed the fence, testing his footing in the sand as he approached. The watchers on either side leaned on the fence, joined now by the three trainees.

  “I hear you fought well against the weevils old timer, but heroes are usually younger, yeah?” There was no mockery in the orcs voice, if anything he sounded concerned, as if he was trying to talk Felix down from a ledge. The orc eclipsed the man, standing a touch shy of twice his height and far broader.

  Felix seemed unconcerned, and checked the straps on the armour sections he had chosen. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me big fella, wouldn’t stand here if I couldn’t handle myself.” He bent down, rubbing his hands in the sand for a moment, and stood with the wooden sword held upright, his free hand in a fist. “Onward to glory, and forward with honour” he intoned, holding his pose for a moment before dropping into a ready stance, the wooden blade pointed at the orc.

  Uzul shrugged, and readied his weapon. “We start when Traugh rings the bell, we go until one submits or someone lands what would be a fatal blow.” He nodded at the taller orc, kneeling outside the square beside a small hand bell. The two combatants stood in silence for a moment, bracing themselves. The bell broke the silence, and both combatants moved.

  Uzul dashed forward, but was halted by a fistful of sand thrown directly into his eyes by Felix. As he reached for his eyes, Felix dashed forward, and kicked upward into the orcs groin. A plume of sand accompanied the kick, a tell-tale sign of Felix channelling the Word of Force into the kick. The metal shin guards impacted and lifted the orc for a moment, the orcs scream of pain echoed by a collective sympathetic groan from the watchers. As Uzul doubled over, his axe dropped, Felix darted to the side and swung his armoured elbow down on the back of the orcs skull. The orc landed heavy on his jaw, both hands gripping his groin. Before he could move, Felix had the point of the wooden sword pushed into his neck, both hands on the handle. “And I reckon that’d do for a fatal blow wouldn’t it?” he said, loudly enough for the watchers to here. Uzul replied by vomiting.

  Felix helped the orc up, though he was slightly limping himself. With the assistance of the taller orc, who had hopped over the fence, they helped Uzul upright and walked him to the fence. It was a few minutes before he stopped groaning enough to speak. “Didn’t you say ‘forward with honour?’” he asked with a strained voice, though he had a smile creeping onto his mouth.

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  “Wouldn’t do you the dishonour of comin’ at you with anythin’ less than every trick I got” answered Felix. The orc smiled, though his forehead was coated in sweat and he still clutched his groin with one hand. “Well fought” said the orc, reaching out to shake Felix’s hand, then rolled under the fence. Felix climbed out, and walked slowly around to the four watchers, favouring one leg. Fuath dashed forward and picked Felix up in a hug, his arms wrapping around the old man. “That was amazing Sir Felix! An amazing display of cunning and skill! They certainly won’t underestimate you again!” Felix shook him off with a grin, and dropped into a sit where he could look into the square. “Jus’ glad he took it in good grace. Who’s got next?” Naran slapped her chest and stepped forward, climbing into the ring as the shortest orc with the dirt and plant in his hair did the same.

  As they watched Naran and the orc discuss something quietly, Wakesfield looked down at Felix. “You fight like a younger man” he observed.

  “Well thank ye kindly” replied Felix.

  “It wasn’t a compliment.” Felix looked up at the burned man, silhouetted against the morning sun. “You put too much force into your blows. A younger man may have shook it off, but you’ll be feeling that” he pointed at Felix’s leg, which was already showing a massive ugly bruise under the shin guard “for a few days at least.”

  Felix stared into the square. His cheeks were reddening, a mix of anger and shame. “Well last time I fought proper I was that younger man.” He looked down at the leg. It ached madly already, and was tender to the touch as he removed the guard. He agreed with the doctor, but he did not like it. He had not channelled the Word into the elbow strike, the pain in his leg had shocked him too much, yet it ached as well from the impact with the orcs skull. “Shitfire. Hell am I supposed to do if I damn near cripple myself first time I take a swing at somethin’?”

  Wakesfield bent down, and looked into Felix’s eyes. There was a kindness there, the eyes glinting behind the glasses. He spoke still in that flat monotone, but there was nothing but goodwill there. “I can help you. I have some exercises can help you stay limber, though you’re in far better shape than most older folk I treat. Then we just need to adjust your use of the Word a touch.” Felix opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by a bell. They turned to watch Naran, Felix still sitting and Wakesfield still crouching.

  Naran had removed her thick coat, and stood in her fur-lined trousers and a tanned leather vest that left her thick arms exposed. She held the wooden shield before her, not used to its lightness compared to her stone shield, the stone club ready. Unlike the first duel, the two combatants eyed each other warily without advancing. The shortest orc, Yadba, held a wooden halberd before him, taking a low stance. He was muttering under his breath, and Naran stepped slightly back as the vine on his head began to glow a slight yellow, and caught the blunt halberd just in time, her shield vibrating with the blow. She tried to move the force for a moment but allowed her arm to absorb it. She was unused to the way the wood wobbled and moved compared to her own weapons, she was likely to injure herself if she tried. The vine glowed again, and she was ready for the low sweep of the halberd this time, jumping over the swing and advancing to strike with her club. The orc slid out of the way, and she had to block another blow with the shield as Yadba put them back at a favourable distance. They traded blows for several minutes, each now bearing many bruises but nothing close to a fatal blow struck.

  Naran spoke as she circled Yadba. “Uzul said this was an interview, a test of our skills before we are accepted.”

  Yadba nodded, the halberd dancing towards her and easily deflected. “It is. For the sake of the House as well as your own, we cannot allow fools looking for a place to die to join.”

  Naran took a breath, and stood, letting her weapons drop. “Then I submit.”

  Yadba stared at her thoughtfully, and stood the halberd upright, leaning on it. “Care to explain?”

  Naran brushed some sand off her clothes as she answered. “It is an unfavourable match up. You have greater reach than me, and skill to keep me there. The longer we fight, the more you can bring the spirit to bear, you said it takes some time for its effects.”

  Yadba nodded, and the glow left the vine. The glow formed a small orb of yellow light that danced around his head, emitting a barely audible whisper at it did. They had spoken openly before the fight, the orc volunteering information freely. “This is true. Plant spirits are not known for speedy actions. Though there is currently a vine growing under the sand to trap your foot. But what if I had truly intended to kill you, and we duelled with true weapons?”

  “Then with the weapons I trained with I would be able to properly Speak the Word and would have shattered your weapon first, then your skull.” Naran spoke with absolute confidence, she had no doubt her stone club and shield with their familiar weight and heft would allow her victory. “As I am now, I fear I would merely injure myself or shatter my weapon on the first blow.”

  Yadba rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And if there was no way to escape or submit and go unharmed?”

  Naran turned to the watchers, and simply said “Benjamin Wakesfield, please shoot my opponent.”

  Yadba laughed, echoed by Felix, and gave a small clap. “Excellent use of available options, and just the right amount of cheek. Well done madam.” The two shook hands in the middle of the square, and left the square. There was a spattering of applause, and some chuckling from both sides.

  Felix gave a chuckle as Naran landed beside him, and Wakesfield stood up and gave a small clap. “It would seem you impressed them” the doctor said, looking to see who would be next into the square.

  Naran shrugged her coat back on, leaving the front open. “I mostly assumed it was not worth taking bruises if not necessary.”

  Fuath tilted his head, looking at her. “I’m not sure I understand myself.”

  Winifred was leaning between two of the rails, peering in as the tallest orc climbed in. “Sometimes best course of action is to retreat and regroup. If they truly mean this as an interview then they can’t fault her for choosing best option for her.”

  Fuath said nothing, but seemed in thought.

  Wakesfield was already straddling the top of the fence, checking the straps of the two rifles were secure with one hand as he held the third in the other hand. “My turn, if no one disagrees.”

  Traugh stood ready, a wooden sword in either hand. He nodded at Wakesfield as he approached, and took up stance. “Need another rifle sir?”

  Wakesfield checked the straps one more time, and stood ready. “I’m used to having more and faster shots than these models allow. Multiple rifles give about the same effect.”

  Traugh raised an eyebrow, an impressive movement on his long face. “Oh? Got something special?”

  Wakesfield adjusted his glasses. “I can’t say I’m afraid. Shall we begin?”

  Traugh nodded back at Uzul, now crouching beside the bell. The combatants readied and tensed as they waited for the bell, its chimes breaking the tension.

  Traugh launched himself at Wakesfield immediately, swords held wide to catch the burned man as he dodged to either side. Unfortunately for him, Wakesfield had immediately turned around and was over the fence in one fluid climb. The orc looked back at his group in confusion for a moment, and was startled by a small bang and gave a yelp as something impacted his thigh. Wakesfield was crouching on the far side of the fence, a rifle leaning on a post. He clicked his tongue with annoyance as he dropped the spent rifle and unslung one from his shoulder. The powder charges were quite small, intended for safe training, and the bullets were rubber pellets rather than metal. The end result was his shot going far wide of where he aimed, though at least it had hit. He stood and started off running further into the yard as the orc bellowed and charged the fence.

  “That’s not fair dammit” yelled the orc as he scrambled over, the four watchers stepping aside to make room.

  “We never said we had to stay in the ring” called back Wakesfield, still running. “Also you should be impaired, a real shot would have ruined the leg.”

  Uzul laughed, and called out “He ain’t wrong Traugh!”

  Traugh gave a roar of frustration, but did indeed fake a limp, keeping one leg stiff as he hopped after Wakesfield. Another shot rang out, Wakesfield having taken position on one of the dummies the three trainees had been using. The shot went wide, the rubber pellet moving slow enough to track as it veered off course. He dropped the rifle, and unslung the last as he took off again. Despite the stiff leg the orc was outpacing him, rapid thumps of his leg carrying him across the yard. Wakesfield turned around an upended wagon with arrows embedded in it, and kept running for three laps, the orc following behind and screaming for him to stand and fight. The watchers laughed out loud, led by Uzul who was wiping tears. Then, as the orc near caught up and Wakesfield was a corner out of reach, Traugh spun around the wagon and came face to face with a rifle aimed directly up at his head. “Bang” called out Wakesfield, and dropped his arms still holding the rifle as the orc stood looking stunned.

  The watchers were still laughing as they headed back for the square, some clapping as well. Uzul lead both, tears running down his face. “Oh that was beautiful, haven’t seen something like that in ages.” Traugh looked furious, and was angrily muttering under his breath. Uzul clapped him on the back. “Ah c’mon now, it was a good trick. Plus he had the decency not to give you a shot in the face!”

  Traugh still looked unhappy, but he nonetheless stood forward to shake Wakesfield’s hand. “Wouldn’t work again” he muttered as he shook the shorter man’s hand.

  Wakesfield nodded back. “I expect not. So I’d use another trick.” which got another loud laugh from Uzul and a dirty look from Traugh. Winifred and Fuath were crouched, talking in whispers as the fence groaned under the weight of the ogre. They looked up as she landed in the sand, and nodded at each other. “Alright priest, let’s go. Nice and dramatic, just as we planned” said Winifred, and climbed over. Fuath nodded, and followed her over.

  They stood in the sand, side by side as they eyed the ogre warily. The ogre stood in a hunched over stance, a pair of wood blocks crudely strapped to either fist. She was punching the air as they readied themselves, her firsts moving far faster than her bulk suggested. There was a silence in the air now, a slight sense of dread. The concern was obvious, even pulling her punches the ogre could easily accidentally break bones or land a truly fatal blow without intention. Winifred swallowed. The priest radiated confidence, standing tall with the staff ready. She held the short sword up, aiming it at the ogre as she fought to keep a tremble out of her limbs. After a few moments, the bell sounded, and they moved.

  Fuath threw his robe up and out, crouching as he did so. He stood low, and a deep rumble called out “See your end” before dashing forward, keeping low. The ogre backed away, a look of fright on her face. She swung one massive arm as he approached, and Winifred responded with a brief blast of flame, speaking the Word to create a quick flash as close as she dared to the ogres face. She kept the heat as low as she could and focused on making it as brief as possible, she had no interest in making a true enemy. But a flame was a flame, and the ogre reared up, waving both hands where the flame had been. Fuath carried on until he was behind the ogre, turning with a kicked up cloud of sand as he spun the staff, a long swing bringing it down on the back of the ogre’s knees. The ogre collapsed forward, and Winifred stepped forward, bracing the short sword with both hands. She thrust upward as the ogre fell to her knees, and the blunt wooden blade poked the ogre’s skin. She smiled for a moment, and opened her mouth to announce the fatal blow. To her horror, the ogre lost her balance and tipped forward, the weight of her frame coming down on Winifred and the upturned wooden sword.

  There was some laughter as the crowd watched, and Uzul called out “Alright alright, guess we’ll call that a win for you lot, not bad…” he trailed off and his face grew concerned. The ogre lay still, and Winifred was hidden underneath the bulk. Underneath the prone form of the ogre, from the region of her neck, a stain of blood was spreading into the sand.