Ferrell the Farmer

Farrell the Farmer Prelude
Farrell wretched violently at the sight before him. The stench of sulfur and methane permeated every inch of the barn. The head dwarf nodded his head in approval before turning to the farmer. Running a stubby hand through his bead laden crimson beard. "Ach. We will pay you for the cows. Snax! Finish up the stitches there is ale waiting to be drunk!"
Mouth covered in shock the farmer tried to make sense of what he was seeing. His cows looked to have been torn apart and sown back together. Tubes and piping protruding out of their bodies. Patches of skin were replaced with metal mesh and brass plating. The monstrosity moaned in agony as the sad eyes of one of the cow's now dual heads gazed upon Farrell.
"What have you done? Why would you do this?" Farrell asked in horror turning away from the scene before his stomach emptied completely.
The lead dwarf chuckled, patting the farmer on the back. "We are protectin' the land, lad. Word of some barrow rats up north, dem rats hate fire. So, we made just the thing to flush'em out." The dwarf's voice grinding on Farrell's ears like a hoarse cough.
Snax pulled the mutilated cows along and out of the barn by leather tether. The creature staggered trying coordinate its legs, "It is ready for testing, Gorman."
The dwarven leader grinned widely, "Let's get to it, lads."
"Target sir?" Snax asked, taking up a large hose and hooking it up to a port imbedded in the hind quarter of the cow.
Without even breaking stride, Gorman pointed at the chicken coop. "There, that is about twenty five paces I believe."
Farrell felt his stomach drop. "Wait!" Putting himself in the path of Gorman, holding his hands out. "Please, could you just not do this kind dwarf?"
Gorman examined the farmer, his onyx eyes screwing tight in irritation. "We fixed your chimney. The lads forged you a good length of dwarven chain. We are also going to pay you for the cows and any other damages." A meaty hand drifted to the handle of his rune etched Warhammer. Stubby finger tapping the head of the weapon, "I think we have been more than fair. Don't you?"
Farrell's expression began to melt from fear to a cold rage, turning from the dwarf. "I didn't ask for anything." Covering a balled fist over his stomach, "Please, just leave soon."
"Nor did we ask for anything, human. Fire!"
The farmer jerked his head as sudden heat washed over him. The tube from the rear of the cow sprayed blue fire as Snax swept the hose back and forth. The flames greedily devouring the chicken coop wooden siding. The strangled squawks of his chickens burning alive mingled with the whooping laughter of the dwarves. Sounds that would grant nightmares to the farmer for weeks to come.
Unable to watch any more Farrell darted around the back side of his humble cottage. Tears of anger rolling down his face the farmer glared at the five graves hidden by back of the cottage. Shoulders shuddering in dry heaving sobs Farrell, "You all had it coming. You all had it coming."
Mumbling the same phrase over and over the farmer was vaguely aware of the sun as it sank into the west to be replaced by the veil of night. Wiping the last tear away Farrell knew what he had to do. "You have it coming."
The dwarves were celebrating their creation, barrel after barrel unloaded from the armored battle wagon. The trio broke into the casks, draining the amber contents, feasting upon the ruined carcasses of the burned chickens. Song after song of heroic deeds poured from the mouths of the rapidly drunken dwarves. Farrell slipped into the barn staring at what was once his prized cows. The creature shifted to regard the farmer. Inching a hand Farrell stroked the abomination's forehead remorsefully. "I am so sorry they did this to you, Tark."
*** *** ***
The night carried on, the dwarves finally settling into the barn to sleep off the obscene amount of ale they had imbibed. Their new creation placed outside to feed and refuel upon the grass. Farrell calmly walked towards the barn, taking the length of chain the dwarves had forged out of horseshoes and looped it through the handles of the barn door. Jerking the chain once to test it the farmer approached the miserable altered cow. Working flint and still together, the sparks catching to the oiled torch. Hatred flowing through him as Farrell pitched the torch through the open window of the barn loft.
The golden light shimmered as flames ate through the hay, to the dry wood. Shouts of anger, and coughing erupted from within the barn. The upper loft of the barn collapsed, the doors to the front of the door bucked, the chain holding it from opening. Farrell squinted as the smoke changed direction towards him. Braced with hose in hand the farmer waited.
With a thunderous crash the door burst off the hinges as Gorman barreled forward followed by his companions. Slapping at his beard the leader gasped for air. A look of confusion came over the trio as they took in the sight of Farrell with their new creation. The farmer flicked the switch near the end of the tube. Tark moaned pitifully as star blue fire poured forth from the weapon. Gorman threw up his hands protectively over his face as the fire splashed over them. Hair shriveled, skin cracked and burned. The smell of death chased the dwarves as they rolled upon the earth trying to put themselves out from the relentless fire.
Gorman fell upon his back, near Farrell. Charred hands coiled into useless stumps "Wh-why?" The leader managed to get out, every syllable laden with smoke.

Turning the hose towards the fallen dwarf, the farmer frowned deeply. "You had it coming."
Two Seasons Later...
Ferrell smiled, laying the chisel to the side before brushing the wood shavings off the sign. Holding the object up the farmer admired his handiwork. "What do you think, Bosco?"
Overly large yellow orbs squinted as the leathery mole like skin pulled its face tight. Stunted feral teeth gnashed in a triangular mouth too large for its body. The small creature turned away from the sign to fiddle with the stump of its tail. "It is too big. Just like the barn. The house. Just like the human." The kobold's voice slightly muffled as if its tongue was trying to work something stuck in its teeth loose.
The farmer shrugged, the kobold's critique was not unusual but as always ruined the moment. "I had to make the barn bigger, that dwarven battle wagon was too large to have it sitting out in the open. I also had to spend all the gold they had on them to keep the miller quiet."
Bosco adjusted the rope belt putting a tiny hand on the dagger that hung from it. "What does human scratching say?"
Running his fingers over the etching, Ferrell beamed. "It says, Ferrell Farm. I promised Lady Dana that I would keep practicing my letters and writing until she got back. I think I am getting rather good at it."
The kobold scoffed, "I don't like the human woman. She lies to you."
"She is just a traveling merchant, Bosco. She is also my friend."
"Is lies! She is b-"
Ferrell thumped the sign down in sudden anger, his expression twisting into horror. "Don't you dare say it! I will not have that stigma put on my friend."
Putting the table between himself and the farmer, Bosco cowered. "Is true! She is! She is -eek!"
Snatching up the chisel, Ferrell swept the table aside easily cornering the runt of a kobold. The muscles tensing in his neck his face flushing red. "For the last time she is a merchant!"
Bosco felt his bladder empty all over the simple wood floor, arms twisting around its head defensively. "Humans no travel alone this far north. She do! Ask her why."
Covering his mouth Ferrell felt the chisel slip from his fingertips to the floor. It had been months since his anger swelled so out of control. The kobold's words sent the farmer's mind reeling the suggestion that they could be true nearly paralyzing. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. In fact, we will not talk about this ever again."
Bosco dared to open an eye and see that it was indeed still alive, before it could utter an agreement Ferrell moved to the door. "Bosco, you need to hide."
"Why?"
Staring out the door, the farmer sighed. "We have company." The dust clouds up the road grew larger as a pair of riders came into view their horses whipped into a full gallop. Ferrell frowned as the duo drew closer, most travelers came from the southern road. These two poured on the speed from the north.
Facing the riders, the farmer warily stepped out on the porch of the homestead. The lead rider slowed, wheeling the large tan charger around in a circle. Both horses panted with exhaustion. Sweeping down from the charger the tall figure addressed the farmer, in a loud commanding voice. "I am Shelia Dane of Twin-Barrel. Do you have fresh horses?"
Rocking on his heels, Ferrell waved the dust from his face. The other rider remained stock still, its black cloak obscuring any trace of identity. Focusing on the speaker the farmer was captivated by the sight of the nearly naked woman. Standing over six and a half feet tall, her golden hair a wild mane tangling with the dented shoulder plate that linked to a thin top of steel mail that barely covered her large round breasts. Black tribal tattoos spiraled out of control from her bare midriff, over her hips and disappeared behind her lower back. A brass scale mail loincloth clashed with the gold dyed leather straps that crisscrossed over her legs to sandal covered feet. Taking up a bastard sword from the saddle of the charger, the barbarian pulled a struggling bundle that was draped over the saddle along with the weapon. "You have been addressed, farmer. Horses. Do you have them?"
Ferrell blinked before shaking his head, "No. No. I do not, I am just a humble farmer."
Finger combing her hair Shelia eyed the farmer, before wrenching through a snag in her mane. "Homely too I see. Can you at least spare some water for them?"
Without thinking Ferrell took up a bucket and dropped the container in the fresh water well, nearly hitting Bosco as the tiny creature clung precariously to the cobble wall of the well. Hissing a whisper at the kobold, Ferrell's cheeks flushing with worry. "What are you doing in there? I told you to hide."
Wide yellow eyes glowed in the shade of the well. "I hide like you say."
Waving a hand frantically, signaling Bosco to be still. "Just stay there."
Composing himself the farmer brought the full bucket back over to the pair. The cloaked figure pointed a gloved hand at an elm close to the house. "That will do, we can secure it there while the horses rest." The figure's voice was definitely male. Shorter in stature to the female barbarian it did little to dissuade the aura of menace surrounding the figure.
Shelia dragged the flopping bundle over to were her companion had indicated. "We should be safe, we have at least a day's hard ride ahead of them after that avalanche you caused, Merrick."
Not stopping to accept the compliment Merrick moved his hands, sparks flowing from his fingertips as arcane words slithered forth from his mouth. Thick ropes sprang from the hollows of his robed sleeves, coiling forward wrapping the burlap bundle to the tree. Whatever resided in the thrashing bag squealed in surprise and again in pain.
Nearly dropping the bucket, Ferrell gasped. "What is that? What is in that bag?"
Shelia observed the binding with overly interested expression, shivering lightly at the sight. "Oh my. I do love it when you work that spell."
"Pardon me but what is in that bag?" Ferrell raised his voice attempting to interrupt.
Merrick's hooded gaze swung his way, "Trouble for you if it gets free, farmer."
Smiling through Ferrell the barbarian took Merrick's hand. "We have had a long ride, we will be on our way in a few hours." Tossing a single gold coin that she produced from the expanse of her cleavage. "We are going to borrow your bed for a spell."
Merrick chuckled darkly at the pun, "As my Lady wishes."
Not waiting for a reply, the pair stormed the house, the sounds of pottery breaking and the table being overturned followed almost before they were out of sight. Staring at the gold piece Ferrell finally bent down to pick it up. Balling a fist, the farmer clutched the coin, wishing will all his might to crush the soft metal into dust.
Snapping out of his daze to the rhythmic sounds of clumsy, yet enthusiastic fornication filling his ears. Rushing to the well to retrieve Bosco the farmer only found his still water reflection staring back at him. Whispering loudly, "Bosco! Bosco? Are you there?"
"Over here." Bosco chirped, crouched inches away from the bundle bound to the tree.
Wide eyed panic swept through the farmer as he motioned his companion away. "Get back, we don't know what that is!"
Flicking the dagger from his belt the kobold slashed the top of the sack. Thin small hands clawed open the opening. Pulling Bosco away Ferrell stared at the head of the bundle's contents. Beady weeping eyes of rose quartz color darted around trying to adjust to the sudden influx of light. Blunted tusks sprang from its lower jaw as it squealed. Its square nose wrinkled as it desperately searched for familiar scent, green gray fur crested in a mow hawk. The thing was beyond frightened.
Tilting his head to the side, Ferrell stated the obvious. "It is an orc."
Bosco hid behind the farmer's leg again losing his bladder against his will. "This is bad. Real bad."
Another crash echoed from the house as Shelia called for something to do with an enlargement spell causing Ferrell to look up, then back down as his leggings began to dampen. "Bosco!"
The kobold could barely breathe, "Is sorry. This is bad. That is chieftain young female."
Trying to fathom all this the farmer took a deep breath, "Get off my leg, and tell me how bad this is. I understand they have a chieftain's daughter, what else is bad about this?" Wincing at the cries of triumph coming from the house, "And make it fast." Ferrell added.
Bosco fidgeted, finally settling into an agitated spin. "The paint on her face. She come from a big tribe. Orcs going to go on warpath."
Stroking his chin, Ferrell looked upon the smaller orc with helpless pity. "They got a day's head start on the orcs according to them. They will be long gone before the orcs get here." His stomach dropping as he could hardly imagine the fate for the young orc.
Bosco snorted, "Humans dumb. Orcs use warpath."
Confused, "What do you mean?" the farmer asked knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.
Bosco sighed, and taking up a twig and drew a serpentine road in the dirt, adding mounds to indicate mountains and hills. "Human use roads, stupid and lazy avoid mountains or go between them. Orcs use warpath." Seeing that Ferrell wasn't understanding the kobold dragged the water bucket over before up ending it on the drawing. "They go over like water on rocks in river."
Bile built up in the farmer's throat as the kobold instilled the unpleasant mental image, "How many will come?"
"Ten. Ten. Most. Maybe all?"
Watching the house, Ferrell struggled with a plan. "What do we do?"
"We die." The kobold said with a grave resignation.
Ferrell paced trying not to look at the bound orc, "What am I supposed to do now? Why did they take her? Take her here of all place?"
"We should flee, maybe the orcs not get us?" Bosco offered with cowardly hope in its voice.
The farmer panned his gaze over the once humble farm, the barn had just been rebuilt the house expanded, the fields alive with a temptingly prosperous crop of wheat. All that paled in comparison to the mound of sculpted rock arranged in a pile under the largest apple tree that lead to a small orchard where the body of his wife resided. Dropping the gold coin, the farmer set his jaw. "I won't leave you behind."
Bosco tugged at Ferrell's leg, "We can leave! We can! Is orc, not human, leave behind." Pleading trying to widen its eyes in an adorable manner.
Ruffling his growing beard in frustration the farmer firmed up his resolve. "How long do you think we have before the orcs get here?"
Swiveling to take in the crying orc the kobold shrugged, "She is from Stone-Belch, not far. Maybe when the sun goes to sleep, maybe before."
Ferrell broke out into a jog heading for the newly finished barn, "That does not leave us a lot of time."
"Crazy human, what do you think you doing?"
The farmer changed direction as an idea occurred to him, now Ferrell was heading towards the house and refused to give the kobold and answer...
Gingerly working the bolt to the storm cellar open, Ferrell inched down the stairs, the fresh wooden steps remaining silent as the farmer reached the bottom. Bracing himself Ferrell quietly shifted a large wooden crate to the side before opening the lid. Muffled voices overhead caught the farmer's attention. Setting the lid back in place, he scaled the box, putting his face inches away from the floor above.
Shelia muttered airily above Ferrell, "I understand that it is essentially culling the herd as it were but it lacks honor. I would prefer to fight those orcs blade to blade."
The creak of the bed caused the farmer to duck his head out of reflex. "Savages have no honor, their population is getting out of hand, again. They have refused to give us the proper number of their species since the last culling was scheduled." Merrick said, the floorboards creaking as the mage began to pace. "One more time, the plan." The mage added.
Shelia sighed deeply, "I construct the signal fire to alert the King's men we are on the way and also to keep the orcs going in the right direction."
Ferrell closed his eyes to concentrate on the conversation. Several objects were being shifted in the room, "And then?" Merrick asked with the condescending tone of stressed mentor.
"Um. Oh, we lead them to Bull Canyon and scale the far side. The orcs come in and get cut off. The King's men have the high ground and there is a bunch of arrows and a field of dead orcs. What are you doing, Merrick?" The last part of Sheila's statement showing interest.
A thump of an object falling to the floor over the farmer's head sending a startled shock down the man's spine. "It is the owner of the farm here. Something is strange about this farm and the farmer."
Giggling Sheila shifted on the bed, "He is just a farmer. Merrick, I swear sometimes you see demons in the shadows when it is just children making shapes with their fingers."
Ferrell's mind raced trying to remember what exactly he had in his bedroom as Merrick continued. "This farmer has a book on Dwarven Engineering. What could he do with it? Look here, a bottle of elven wine you cannot open unless you have a signet ring of that particular elven house."
Having heard enough, Ferrell shivered. Orcs on the way, the mage's scrutiny while informative was unnerving. Above, Sheila scoffed again. "You are reading too much into it. Why are you thinking about a man that does nothing with his life when you have this still hungry body to enjoy?"
*** *** *** **
Ferrell retrieved the sought-after bundle in the cellar and made his way to the barn as the pair went into another tussle of quick, heated lust. Pacing in the barn the farmer felt hopelessly caught, "It is over. I can't do it. If the orcs catch up, we all die. If they leave, the orcs come and I die. Even if I somehow survive that, the mage is going to return and finish me off."
Bosco perched itself on the edge of a rain barrel nearby watching the human panic. "We leave now?"
Hugging himself, Ferrell found he had no more tears just empty shudders. "I am not leaving her to be dug up and cast away!"
"What will you do, human?"
Snapping a glare at the kobold, "What are you still doing here? I thought you were going to leave."
Dragging a clawed hand through the stale rain water and shoving a dead floating beetle in its mouth Bosco pawed at its snout, "Legs too short to run fast, won't get far. You make good food too."
Stopping at the kobold's words, the farmer smirked sadly. "Good food? You eat my compost and garbage."
Yawning as the stress wore the creature down, "Still good to me."
"If I could get rid of those two and free the orc child the orcs might turn back and just leave us alone."
Scratching a paw between his eyes Bosco sniffed, "Maybe."
Ferrell grip yanked an iron ring in the floor, prying open the compartment. "Bosco, I need every rat pelt you have. If he is looking for something wrong with me, the best chance I have at beating him is giving him what he wants."
"What about the female with the sword?"
Pulling a leather bound book from the compartment the farmer began thumbing through it. "Yes, excellent this is the one." Each flick of the page made his fingertips tingle. Popping the top of a lamp oil vial with his teeth Ferrell spat it away and dripped the contents onto the pages. Pressing the book closed the farmer let the excess oil drip onto the floor of the barn. Finally answering the kobold, "I will figure something out, I hope."
Ferrell had enough wood left of from the barn restoration that he had constructed a light work shack where the pigpen used to be. Placing the book on the work bench he watched in distaste as Shelia lit the signal fire. Using his bed blankets and winter cloak to assist in the creation of the thick white billowing column. The look on the barbarian's face was mock sheepishness as she noticed the farmer.
Kneeling near the small orc that remained bound to the tree, the farmer offered the tiny creature an apple, trying to reassure it. The small head darted forward enveloping the apple and almost a good part of the farmer's hand. Shifting smoke drifted their way carrying with it the stench of burned fur and leather. Feeding the orc another fruit Ferrell's eyes swept for signs of the mage. "Hope leads to action." Patting the baying orc on the top of the head, Ferrell whispered a brief prayer that fate would be kind this day.
Ferrell found Merrick at the edge of the graveyard the mage's cloaked head bent as if in deep thought.
Confronting the mage, Ferrell frowned. "Your friend is destroying my property. I want you all to leave."
Ignoring the demand Merrick panned a slow hand indicating the graves. "Who are they?" The question came off as a coy or amused as if he knew the answer already.
"Less fortunate travelers. Gather your things and go."
Crossing his arms, the mage still did not turn towards Ferrell, "The horses are still resting."
"You have one hour, I have to get back to work." The farmer snapped.
Merrick snorted, "What sort of work?"
"Mending horseshoes." Ferrell tossed the answer over his shoulder tersely.
"Yet, you don't have any horses. The more I stand here the more cracks appear in your story, farmer."
"Just leave and take the orc with you."
Ferrell could feel the mage following as he made his way to the work shack. The farmer's heart beat so fast he felt his eyes would shoot out of their sockets at any moment. The next few moments would decide everything.
Positioning himself over the book on the bench, the farmer had to admire the grizzly rush job the kobold had done. The wrapped book cover was in the requested in rat pelt, some of them were still bloody, a few of the rats still had now rotting eyes. The single lit candle cast the object in a menacing light the shifting darkness making the flattened rat carcasses take on a parody of life in shadow.
Merrick's voice interrupted Ferrell's dark admirations. "Before you attempt to summon whatever is in that book, I would like to point out your anvil is in the opposite direction. For mending horseshoes for horses, you do not have. A simple slip in the details I am sure but it has now cost you. Step away from the book."
Ferrell let the mage gloat, refusing to move away from the book for the moment. "Looks like you caught me. Now what do we do?" The farmer asked plainly.
The farmer could feel Merrick's smile in the response. "I am curious. How many of them did you kill?"
"Less than you are soon to do." Ferrell answered with growing ease, the farmer decided to push the matter by making a motion towards the book.
"Hold fast. I have a wand with enough eldritch power to turn you into a twin of the fire outside. Step away from the book."
Ferrell did as commanded, turning to see indeed a wand pointed at him, its tip glowing angrily with green fire. He was beyond fear at this point, this was now in the hands of fate.
Motioning with the wand, Merrick herded the farmer towards the door until the mage was between the book and Farrell. "It is a fascinating cover, I have never seen something so timeless yet so preserved. What era is from?"
"I wouldn't know. It commands, I do as it bid." Internally the farmer wanted to roll his eyes or vomit, he just couldn't decide which would be more expressive.
A long sigh exited the mage, "A poor craftsman blames the tool. Fine, let us see the truth of the matter." With a flourish Merrick used his free hand to open the settled tome without looking at it.
A simple black cord tacked to the corner of the grimoire drew tight, yanking the single flaming candle down and over the oil covered pages. Ferrell went for the hand axe at the small of his back, expecting seconds of shock to overcome the mage and the simple ability to hack the overconfident mage to death. The unexpected decided to make its presence felt, perhaps forever...
Fire ripped through the exposed pages with an unnatural rapidity. The following explosion was deafening as the pages consumed released unguided power in a ring of concussion and sense stripping power. The blast lifted Ferrell up and away from the slow moving fragments of the shattered shack, his ears ringing to the point it overwhelmed his sight, blurring it. Grass was a comfort as his body rolled, finding a rock that was not so pleasant taking an eternity to grate over his shoulders. His hand axe spinning off as it were a gift accepted by the gods only to be regifted in the form of a half filled bucket of icy water over his head.
Sputtering water, the farmer clamped his ears over the wooden container. His blurred vision struggled to focus on a quartet of brass covered breasts heading his way. A one armed demon staggered above him in a tight circle yelling something about their eyes...
The breasts leapt over Ferrell, consoling the demon. Garbled words filled the air as the farmer staggered to his feet. The world swam in vertigo as Ferrell swiveled drunkenly on his feet. The setting sun seemed to get further away, or was it trying to hide behind the mountains? Inch by inch the farmer made his way to the elm tree his vision returning. Bosco had been sawing feverishly at the ropes that held the orc only to have them disappear anticlimactically. The orc, squealed the sound like a knife stab to Ferrell's brain.
"Come on. Get to the barn!" Ferrell slurred, the ringing in his ears fading.
His body ached but there appeared to be nothing broken. Casting a glance towards the wreckage, the shed was in splinters, but not burning. Shelia frantically worked one of her sandal straps off and began wrapping it tightly around the mage's now stump of an arm. Bosco tugged on the orc's arm as the trio ran for the barn. The wind picked up, fanning the flames of the signal fire, causing the smoke to roll along the ground like morning fog. The duo's horses had spooked from explosion but paused at the edge of the farmer's property a new agitation taking hold of the animals.
Slamming the lower half of the Dutch door to the barn shut, Ferrell picked up the loaded crossbow he had placed there earlier. The motion knocking over a basket of apples immediately drawing the orc's attention. The small pig like creature would grab an apple, eat it and repeat the motion. "Bosco! Hide her!"
Ferrell leveled the crossbow, using the lower half of the Dutch door to assist the aimed shot. Sheila had hauled Merrick to the signal fire, her back perfectly squared to the farmer. Thrusting the tip of her sword into the roaring fire she fretted over her partner. The light from the fire gave Ferrell a haunting look at Merrick's face. The mage's right eye hung out of its socket, his jaw hanging uselessly having been dislocated. With his remaining hand the mage plunked a dagger of wood out of his hip numbly in shock before fainting.
Bosco made a chewing noise as it hopped up next to Ferrell on a stool nearly spoiling the farmer's aim. Flicking a glance at the kobold. "How can you eat at a time like this? Wait. What are you eating?"
"Mage hand." Came the calm, quick reply from the kobold between chews.
"Why are you doing that?" The farmer's stomach churned, determined not to look at the sight keeping them forward, judging the distance of the shot from the door to the barbarian's unprotected back.
"Was hungry for hands. Also absorb mage's power for little time."
Shelia pulled the sword from the fire, its tip glowing a cherry red. Raising the blade up the female barbarian pressed it to the stump of the mage's arm. Merrick bolted to a sitting position screaming in agony. The sudden sound startled Ferrell, triggering the crossbow. The bolt flew forward straight and true, under Shelia Dane's arm and into the wreck of Merrick's face the tip exploding out the back. The comely barbarian threw back her head in a shrieking wail that echoed throughout the farm. Holding the limp mage in her arms the barbarian's body wracking with sobs followed by another scream of anguish.
Cursing, Ferrell stamped on the foothold of the crossbow, pulling the string back to reload it. The cries of loss gave way to howls of uncontrolled rage as Sheila caught sight of the farmer. Letting the dead mage slip from her arms and raising her sword in challenge. "FARMER!!!!"
With the crossbow reloaded, Ferrell looked up to see Shelia charging towards the barn. Her long strides soon to make quick work of the distance, her tangled mane flowing like golden fire. Her magnificent chest bouncing handsomely in the tight confines of the impractical armor. Her sword promised death in half a stroke. Ferrell could almost already see his overturned skull in her hand as she drank his blood from it.
Slamming the top section of the door shut, the farmer fumbled with the bolt to lock it. In a panic he looked at Bosco for help seeing the tiny creature staring in wonder at the blue sparks dancing between its fingertips. "What are you waiting for? Eat the damn hand!"
The blade of Shelia's bastard burst through the door, cutting the farmer along the length of his forearm nearly running him through. Falling back Ferrell, clamped a hand over the wound failing to lock the top part of the door. The upper section of the door flew open and the barbarian vaulted into the barn leaving her sword behind, landing in a crouch. "I am going to finish this with my bare hands, murderer!"
In response Ferrell threw a punch only to have the barbarian duck it and slam her knee into the farmer's midsection. Wind blasted out from Ferrell's lungs doubling the farmer over losing his grip on the crossbow. Seizing the back his tunic Shelia wheeled the farmer around like a rag doll and launched him into the side of the barn. Ferrell collided with the wood shoulder first, rolling out of instinct as the barbarian planted a forceful foot where his head would have been a split second before. Gasping for air the farmer was spun around by the injured shoulder then grabbed by the throat and belt rising off the ground and over the barbarian's head.
Out of desperation Ferrell jabbed his finger into Shelia's eye. The barbarian lost her grip on the farmer pawing at her face. Falling to the ground, Ferrell rolled springing up tackling Shelia around the waist, shoving her backwards into the railing of a stable. Fear changed to anger as the farmer took the initiative. Balling his fists, the farmer hammered the barbarian's midriff. Shelia's hand hard palmed the farmer in the forehead causing the last swing to arc up and slam into the hero's chest under her breast. The tall barbarian yelped before backhanding Ferrell across the face sending him to the ground. "You hit like a tavern wench!"
Panting the farmer got to his feet in defiance, "Get off my land!" he screamed. Sheila sprang forward, arms outstretched her expression of bloodlust changed to pain as lightning arced off her back dropping her short of the lunge for the farmer. Bosco blew on his smoking fingers diving into a hole when the barbarian rolled over, curses spewing from her gritted teeth.
No hesitation occurred before Ferrell started kicking the woman as she lay prone, spasming uncontrollably. The smell of animal musk, stale hay and burned flesh flooded the air mingling with the angry yells of the farmer. Holding his shoulder Ferrell gave the fallen barbarian one final kick before shuffling over to his abandoned crossbow.
The world went into a spin as the farmer found himself flung through the air, landing hard outside the barn. The sound of steel squeaking from splintered wood followed. Ferrell didn't want to move anymore his aches intensified with every movement. Still he made it to his feet, crossbow in hand, aiming from the hip. Blowing blood from his mouth that flowed freely from his nose.
"I will not let you get away with this." He spat, assuring himself that if he died, he would give the barbarian at least a scar that would remind her forever of the encounter with a 'simple famer'.
Shelia stood poised with her sword a few feet away, yet she was not looking his way. Following the gaze Ferrell felt the large resigned sigh of impending doom leave his lungs perhaps for the final time. The expanse of the farm yard was filled with a sea of glittering eyes in the darkness. Those tiny eyes belonged to a sea of dark hulking shapes, taller than men, and twice as wide. Stretching as far as the eye could see, hundreds, perhaps a thousand and as silent as the grave.
"Oh, fuck me." Ferrell muttered.
Shoring up her resolve Shelia smirked with uncertainty, her sword dipping from fatigue. "A common enemy approaches, farmer. Stand with me and will enter Valhalla together."
Tired and aching the farmer snorted, "I don't know where this Valhalla is but if it is filled with people like you it should be burned to the ground. Hopefully with you in it."
Shelia rode her bravado well and off a cliff, "We will settle our differences after this battle, farmer. It will be a glorious-"
Ferrell swung the crossbow low, and shot the bolt through the top of the tall warrior's naked foot. The scream of pain cutting off her words, Ferrell took the spent crossbow and bashed it over the bent warrior's head. The wood shattered, throwing Shelia to the fertile, promising earth of his farm. The monstrous forms stirred perhaps in approval or confusion yet failed to fall upon the two yet.
Spitting on the barbarian Ferrell shook his head almost not caring what happened next. "You don't get to start a fight and not finish it while looking to start another." Holding out the ruins of the broken crossbow straight out, Ferrell let it drop un-ceremonially in front of the hero.
Holding her head Shelia flopped on her back, "You have no honor!"
Opening the door to the barn, the farmer waved inside. The silence was only broken by Shelia's cries as she tried to work the crossbow bolt from the top of her foot. The orc child emerged being pushed by Bosco, apple stems littering the orc child's face. Upon seeing the vast horde, the small orc cried out in a squeal of want and joy.
The thick crowd erupted in movement as something larger pushed its way through. The dying signal fire still gave off enough light to give Ferrell the sight that would remain riveted to memory years later. At nearly ten foot tall the lead orc lumbered forward. Its massive green grey gut nearly the length of its arms, stubby legs rumbling the ground. Its lower tusks capped in coned steel, the uppers in iron, scars running across its face from yelling too loud. The rest of its body was an impossible to solve maze of callouses and scars. Tabards of neighboring kingdoms had been worked into a makeshift halter top, its loin cloth made of warhorse armor. A long belt of disjointed metal hung slanted at its hips. The pattern of the belt seemed irregular or without purpose to Ferrell until he figured out it was made of the flattened helms of knights. At least one of them was freshly 'minted' as it still oozed brain fluid making it the shiniest of all.
The orc child dove into its mothers open arms, the massive trunks enclosing over the small creature in love and safety. The eyes of the head orc craned to take in the two. The child nestled in the crook of the large orc's arm, squealing happily and pointing at Ferrell.
The gargantuan swept a hand down, lightly in an orc manner pushing Ferrell out of the way. The thunder of giant fingers being snapped echoed through the farm. Orcs surged forward to seize the wounded prize of the fallen Shelia. The female barbarian struggled but her efforts were easily overpowered by the sheer number of orcs.
The glowing eyes faded by the pair, leaving Farrell hopeful but wanting. "I got a feeling I am going to need more apple trees."
Bosco paced around Ferrell stroking its face thoughtfully. "If you find a tree that grows hands, we cold use it."
"I am not growing hands! I am a farmer, I just want to work my land. I am just a simple farmer and I hurt...all over."