The Rescue of What's-Her-Name: The Finale

“Pardon?” Melkor said, unable to take his eyes off What’s-her-name.

“That outfit, it’s ridiculous.” She turned to Coryn, who was trying not to stare too much. “You said she was kidnapped while out riding. Who’d go riding dressed like that? Do you know how much that would chafe?” She walked over and examined the prisoner more closely. “She’s the lord’s daughter, for god’s sake. I can accept that she looks like Cindy Crawford, but can’t she afford clothes?”

There was much shuffling of feet and averting of eyes. Bobbin tried to Hide and failed.

“Uhhh . .. it’s the orcs,” Coryn suddenly said.

Everyone, including What’s-her-name, turned to look at him.

“They, uh, made her dress like that.” He turned to the other men for support. “Right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rallis said. “They always do that. It’s standard procedure, really.”

“They’re a big buncha pervs,” Lars added.

“Right.” Tamra’s gaze went to each of the men in turn, her arms folded. “Whatever, let’s get her free.”

Lars and Melkor rushed forward, knocking over Bobbin in the process.

As the two eagerly untied What’s-her-name, Tamra sidled up to Coryn. “This better be standard procedure for orcs,” she muttered under her breath.

Coryn assumed his most innocent expression. “Would I lie?”

“Would you?”

There was a pause, as the cleric surreptitiously rolled a die. “According to that roll, no.” He smiled wanly down at her.

“Oh thank you!” the lord’s daughter exclaimed in a very masculine voice that was deeper than Lars’. “I was out riding when those horrid orcs ambushed us.”

“Yeah,” Bobbin interrupted. “We know.”

“But it was so frightening,” What’s-her-name continued, in a voice you’d expect on a linebacker. “They dragged me back here and, uh, made me dress like this.”

“See!” Lars said, nodding. “Told ya they’re a big buncha pervs.”

“What’s your name?” Rallis asked. “And spell it, so they can get it right when they WRITE IT DOWN.”

There was an immediate scramble for pencils and paper.

“Oh, it’s . . .”

There was a sudden crash, as half a dozen orcs smashed through a nearby wall. More orcs appeared at the entrance, their weapons held at the ready. From outside the hut, a voice rose above the tumult
“Prepare to die, outlanders!” The voice sounded strangely like What’s-her-name, as if she had a long-lost orc twin.

With a roar, the orcs sprang forward, even as the adventurers formed a circle around the lord’s daughter. Tamra needed no coaching this time. She threw up her shield and waved her sword at the oncoming horde. “C’mon, ya sexist pigs!” she said, failing to notice the look that passed between the guys. Then the orcs were upon them, a volley of spears and axes coming over the heads of the lead orcs as they ran at the party, faces twisted with bestial rage. Above it all, a deep voice began chanting in a language of venom and malice, which promised nothing but pain for the adventurers.

“Whoa, one sec,” Melkor suddenly said, as his companions readied themselves to face the onslaught. “I hate to do this, but tomorrow’s a work day. I need to get up early.”

“But it’s just getting good!” Lars said. The orcs, scant feet from the adventurers, their weapons inches from the interlopers, nodded their assent, as did What’s-her-name.

“Hey, it’s better to stop now than in the middle of combat.”

“Oh, all right,” Bobbin said. He sheathed his sword. “Let’s clean up.” He started helping the orcs tidy up the hut.

“Did you have fun?” Melkor asked Tamra, as he collected soda cans.

She smiled. “Yeah, it wasn’t what I expected.”

“Told ya,” Coryn said, as he was collecting his dice.

“I’m still not too sure about the whole chain-mail bikini thing, though.”

Rallis glanced up from putting his books back into his backpack. “Hey, what can you expect from Minions of Evil?”

The orc shaman walked by, headdress under an arm. Without it, he appeared to be little more than a balding, thirty-something guy with a paunch. “It’s a living,” he said with a shrug.