2. Jurto

2

JURTO

G ritting my teeth, I brace myself as I storm through my wall of obstacles. My teammates, serving as my practice opponents, throw their all at me. They grasp and claw at my arms, toss their bodies at my legs, and do everything they can to wrestle me to the ground.

Still, that does nothing to deter me. I shove them off with a loud groan. I ram my head into their chests, knocking the wind from their lungs.

"Shit!" Kyleb exclaims, slamming to the ground. "Jurto, I'm no use to the team if my ribs are broken!"

An excited laugh escapes me as I sprint to the other side of the field, the ball tucked underneath my arm. In my peripheral vision, Hrogun narrows in on me and tries to wrestle the ball from my grasp, but I spin out of his reach and leave him spiraling to the ground.

"You'll have to do better than that!" I bellow with glee, my voice booming across the field as I leap up and slam the ball through the elevated training goal. The net quivers with the impact, the sound a triumphant echo across our practice field. As I land back on the turf with a solid thud, my teammates rush toward me, their massive, shirtless forms slick with sweat under the relentless sun.

"Jurto! You're unstoppable!" Borka slaps my back with a force that would stagger a lesser being, his tusks gleaming in a proud grin.

"Every practice, you guys push me harder!" I shout back, the rush of our game fueling my spirit. We stomp over to the benches, our muscles flexing and shining, the ache in them a testament to our hard work. I grab a water skin, the cool water soothing my scorched throat as I gulp it down eagerly.

We collapse onto the wooden benches, feeling every bit of our exertion but reveling in it. Hrogun, his chest heaving with deep breaths, drops beside me with a grunt, his huge frame sprawling over the space.

"You nearly had it today, Hrogun," I quip, nudging him with an elbow.

"Next time, Jurto, I'm snagging the victory!" he retorts with a playful snarl, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a tough rematch.

Kraag, his body lined with the scars of many games, stretches out, his gaze sweeping over us with both pride and tactical assessment. "You young ones keep speeding up. Makes an old player like me stay sharp."

"Kraag, your strategies make us more than just a team; they make us winners," I say sincerely. His experience has shaped many of our game plays, turning potential defeats into celebrated victories.

Our laughter is hearty and fills the air, mixing with tales of past games and strategies for future matches. The bond within our team, forged in the heat of relentless practice and shared triumphs, feels indestructible. With these players at my side, no game feels too daunting.

As the break draws to a close, we rise together, united by our shared passion for zyrphix. "Back on the field, Bloodcrushers! We're not just training to play; we're training to dominate!" I rally, feeling a surge of collective energy from my teammates.

"Think we're ready to take down Aleryn's team?" Krodash, a young orc whose shoulders are not yet as broad as the rest of us, throws the question into our midst as we head back to the field. His eager, yellow eyes flick between us, seeking reassurance. "I heard they've got a couple new dark elves on the team."

I chuckle, clapping him on the shoulder with a thud that echoes his hearty spirit. "Krodash, we've trained hard. Elves or not, we're ready for them."

Borka grins, his tusks catching the last light of the sun. "Dark elves are quick, but they lack our brute strength. Remember last year's match? We grounded them every chance we got."

"True," Hrogun adds, pounding his fist into his other hand, the impact sounding like a drum in the quiet evening. "And it's not just about strength. It's about heart, and no one has more heart than a Bloodcrusher."

We nod, feeling a surge of pride. The bond in our team is about more than just playing zyrphix; it's about standing together, pushing each other to be better, both on the field and off.

I turn to Krodash, noticing the way his shoulders square a little more with each word of encouragement. "Listen, those dark elves might be fast, but they haven't felt a game against us yet. We play with the ferocity of a storm and the solidarity of a mountain. They might be good, but we have something they don't—unbreakable unity."

"And strategy," Kraag interjects, his voice a low rumble of wisdom. "We'll outplay them with tactics. Jurto, lead the first offensive. Hrogun, you anchor defense. Borka, disrupt their formation. And Krodash," he says, turning his sharp gaze on the young orc. "You're with me. You'll learn how to turn their speed against them."

Krodash's chest swells visibly with pride. "I won't let you down," he vows, a fierce determination lighting up his expression.

As we approach the field again, the setting sun casts long shadows, making our figures loom like giants over the ground. Our steps are synchronized, a powerful rhythm that feels like the beating of a war drum. The excitement builds in my chest—a wild, pulsating thrill.

"Let's show them what it means to face the Bloodcrushers," I roar, and a chorus of assent rises around me, fierce and exultant. We're more than a team; we're a brotherhood clad in determination and strength, ready to dominate the game and forge our legacy in the annals of zyrphix.

I scowl at the mere mention of the dark elf. Aleryn's name alone was enough to tighten my fists, the memory of his smug grin at last year's tournament burning in my mind like a fresh wound. He has quite the reputation, one steeped in arrogance and disdain, and there's nothing I desire more than to crush that arrogance into the dirt of the field.

"We'll dismantle their team," I growl, my voice low and firm, each word dripping with determination. "Player by player, until there's nothing left but the echo of their defeat."

Around me, my teammates' grunts of agreement fuel the fire in my belly. Borka's eyes gleam with a fierce joy, his massive hands clenching in anticipation. "We'll break their line early. Let's see how they handle a real orcish onslaught."

Hrogun, ever the strategist despite his brute force, nods thoughtfully. "And keep them on the defensive. They can't play their game if they're too busy keeping us out."

Kraag steps closer, his veteran scars a map of battles past. "Remember, it's not just about power. It's precision. We hit them hard and where it hurts. Jurto, target Aleryn. You know his tricks."

I nod sharply, the plan crystallizing in my mind. The thought of going head-to-head with Aleryn sends a thrill through me. I want to see the surprise in his eyes when he realizes we've outplayed them, the moment his arrogance crumbles.

Krodash looks between us, his youth not diminishing the fire in his gaze. "What about the elves' speed?"

"Use it against them," I reply, clapping him on the back. "Force them to make quick decisions. They're fast, but under pressure, they'll falter. We keep the pressure relentless."

The air around us crackles with intensity. The field under our feet feels like the deck of a warship, bracing for the storm of battle.

"Bloodcrushers on three," I call out, and every hand comes in, each one rough and calloused, symbols of our unity and strength.

"One, two, three—Bloodcrushers!" We roar together, our voices a single, thunderous force. As we break and take positions, I catch Aleryn's smirking face in my mind's eye. Not for much longer, I promise silently.

I grin, already envisioning Aleryn's humiliating defeat in the upcoming zyrphix match. The thought alone fuels my anticipation, the sweet taste of upcoming victory mingling with the salty evening air. The Tlouz Zyrphix League never skimps on its rewards—money, exotic foods, and sometimes rare trinkets from distant lands. This year, I'm expecting the haul to be especially grand.

But that's not the best part. Seeing Aleryn crumble under pressure will be the best prize yet, everything else will be an added bonus.

The dark elves are not allowed to use their magic during zyrphix games. No one is. The presence of magic only repels the ball, forcing a competition of brute strength and wit.

"Imagine what we could do with this year's prize," I muse aloud, turning to my teammates. "Last year's haul bought my mother a new roof. This year, maybe more."

Borka laughs, his voice booming across our small circle. "I'm eyeing some spiced meats. Nothing celebrates a win better than a feast."

Krodash, ever the dreamer among us, chimes in, his voice laced with a hint of longing. "I heard they might include some of those enchanted stones from Prazh. Imagine bringing one of those back home."

Hrogun slaps him lightly on the back, his smirk broad and teasing. "Always got your head in the clouds, kid. Focus on the game. Stones won't matter if we don't win."

"We play right, and we can all get a taste of those prizes," I declare. "But first, we crush Aleryn and his crew during the upcoming match. I can't wait to see the look on his face when we dominate the field."

Kraag nods sagely. "It's about more than just prizes, though. It's about respect, about showing the league the Bloodcrushers aren't just a team. We're the team."

As we finish our practice, the setting sun casts a warm glow over the field. The air around us is thick with the promise of challenge and the weight of what's at stake. The intensity of our practice might as well be the real thing.

The ambience prepares me, it thrills me, it makes me feel as if I can take on all of Protheka on the zyrphix field and still come out victorious.