The Enforcer

A thick cloud of smoke fills the dim, metallic box that some would refer to as a 'warehouse'. The ceiling lights barely work, emitting a weak white-orange light. Sounds of work and play fill the space. Gambling, shit-talking, dealing, prostitution, it's going down.

Four men and one woman are all sitting a table. Smoking blunts. Drinking shitty whiskey. Counting money. The light hanging above them briefly shorts and goes dark and quickly lights again. The woman, a half-elf looks alert for a second, and relaxes.

One of the men, a full-blooded orc, with a wild tangle of dreadlocks notices: 'Mer, you good? Heart can't take this shit?' He laughs hard, in her face. She summons a knife out of thin air right above his head, pointing down, ready to impale his brain.

The orc snorts and tries to swat away the knife, it dodges his hand and repositions itself over his head. 'Are YOU good, Yor??? I'm really fuckin' good.' Everyone laughs. "Give it a rest, I was just playing..." he frowns as the knife disappears.

"Play with these nuts, asshole." Mer licks her lips and grabs her crotch and thrusts in the general direction of everyone else at the table. Everyone laughs again. A muffled sound and brief, faint bashing can be heard.

A power surge happens a second later, the microwave, the lights, all the appliances in the room go dead and come back on again. Mer stands up, ears twitching. "Something's wrong." Yor just pours another shot. "Chill. We just gotta sit on this package for another 10 minutes."

"Nah man-" Mer pulls out a revolver. "Something's fucking WRONG..." An electric charge arcs through the room, everyone's hair expands and stands on edge, the electronics in the room are spazzing out. Everybody stands up and pulls out their weapons, rifles, blades, whatever.

Yor looks at the thick forest of hair on his arm, all standing at attention. "What the-" BOOM. A huge blast of thunder shakes the entire compound and the metal door separating the room from the outside is kicked clean off it's hinges and crushes Yor against a wall, shattering him

Everything in the room is whirling about as a gale force wind pummels the space and a large, suited, Ray-Ban wearing half-orc steps into the room. The remaining four mercenaries all break out into goosebumps & start sweating profusely, as what used to be Yor leaks onto the floor.

"Where is she?" The huge half-orc in the suit asks.

Everyone in the room draws down on him and immediately begins firing as Mer summons a handful of knives and throws them at the half-orc.

A thunderous boom can be heard again as all the projectiles hit nothing but air. One merc gets punched in the chest with a metal arm and the force collapses his chest in and sends him through a cabinet. Another takes a brutal kick to the chin and his spine breaks in half.

The last standing male, is uppercutted into the ceiling, his body lodged into it, leaving him suspended. Mer, avoids a haymaker with a split second drop to the ground, and tries to cut the achilles of the enforcer.

The giant martial artist lifts his leg and pivots as the dagger passes through empty space, and he turns and stomps down hard on the arm that tried to cut him, snapping it like a twig.

The half-elf screams in agony as the bone splits and hits open air and blood rapidly begins to flow. All in one motion she finds herself face to face with the enforcer who asks again: "Where is she?" Mer, shaking from pain and shock nods her head to metal box in the corner.

The enforcer strides over to the box, which has an electronic lock. He closes his eyes and speaks a brief prayer, and touches the lock and it shorts out. He tears off the door and the young teenager girl falls out of it into his arms.

"Thank the Storm." He sighs, deeply relieved to have made it in time. The young girl, bruised and tortured, being prepared for a terrible fate, recognizes her rescuer and begins to weep, and whispers "Roarke...", before quickly passing out. An alarm starts to blare.

Roarke takes off his beautiful, black longcoat, lays it on the floor and gently places the girl onto it. "Give me one minute, and I'll get you out of her." As mercenaries and gangsters scramble to intercept the intruder. Roarke takes the giant orcish broadsword from his back.

He says a prayer, offering the lives of the the men and women whose lives he will take in combat, offering them to the Storm, and to the Battle. Wind whirls about him and electricity arcs. He takes his stance. When he sees the white of the eyes of his next opponent he strikes.

A giant boom and a flash of lightning illuminates the warehouse.

The End.

with Love, Genius, and Thunder anansi, the soul director, divine artist of the gods Roarke will return.

Originally posted as a thread on X