Javier cocked his redblade and sent a thrust at the orc’s green throat. The afternoon bazaar ground to a halt; the crowd gawked.

“Who’s this now?” quipped the orc as he bent himself backwards, far enough that his head nearly touched the ground. He whipped back into a reverse somersault and landed, twin daggers unsheathed.

“Where I’m from – Gorl, that is – we say ’ello before we slice,” he said, stretching his arms behind his bulbous, hairless skull. “Kur’s the name, human.”

Javier spat, then scrunched his left toe and felt his rocket boot ignite. He dashed brazenly with a two-handed horizontal swipe. Kur’s digitigrade legs flexed and the orc leaped right over Javier. At the crest of his inverted, swiveled jump, he whipped a dagger through the air.

Javier’s shoulder exploded in pain. He spun just in time to see Kur scurry up on all four limbs, low as a snake.

“Truce!” barked Javier, floundering.
“Would I be granted a truce had ye sliced me throat!?” Kur spat as he thrust his dagger skyward.