Pray for Help. (Faith)

Panicked, you press your palms together in prayer and chant beneath your breath:

“Arasmus, Father of Life and Love, Lord of Fertility, I beg for your help. Hide me from those who would do harm.”

There’s a weighted silence, occasionally interspersed with the rumbling of footsteps growing louder.

Suddenly, warmth spreads throughout your chest, that familiar feeling that fills you when in the presence of Arasmus.

“Stay,” A husky, deep voice fills your mind. “These people shall do you no harm. I have a task for you.”

“A task, my lord?” You ask exitedly. Not every day does Arasmus grant missions to humble clerics.

“Yes. The two souls you are about to meet are lost. Guide them, and you shall be rewarded...”

The voice fades to a whisper as you crouch down beside an old wooden worktable. Just as you do, two figures enter the room.

Orcs.

They both stand tall, with hastily put-together leather armour straps that don’t do much to hide their muscled bodies. One of the orcs has a dark shadow of stubble across his jaw and upper lip, and wears a pair of cotton trousers that look too small, the fabric tight around his bubble butt. The other is taller and more muscular, and wears a simple loincloth, showing off his thick thighs. You suppose that they’re part of a bandit group.

“Shit...” The stubbled one mutters. “I was really horny as well.”

The other laughs, deep barks echoing throughout the room.

“Of course you are. The only time you get off is when the boss sends us to deal with intruders.”

“Shut it, Kez.”

“No you shut it, Reyek.”

The two go on, arguing in the centre of the room for some time. You now realise what Arasmus meant: your job is to get the two orcs to reveal their feelings for one another.