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"Starvation"
The bull
named Horse came tearing down the street under the early summer noon-day
sun, out of the Rocktusk District and towards the mouth of the slum
canyons. Saliva flecked at the corners of his mouth, and he wore a wild
grin. A large brown sack was clutched in his arms.
Within
the mouth of the canyons stood five orcs: Reltir, Kalga, Balthos, and
the brothers Alkar and Alkir. As Horse pounded towards them, they fell
back into the canyon shadows, letting him in, surrounding him, thumping
his back, grabbing the sack and pulling it open. Balthos stuck his big,
flat nose into it and inhaled. “We’re gonna eat tonight!” he shouted
gruffly, and the others cheered. Horse’s grin broadened.
Balthos heaved the heavy sack over his shoulder. “Break up,” he said,
and in a twinkling, the orcs had disappeared into the canyon’s shadows,
deep even at midday. Horse and Balthos stood alone.
“Did you eat any of it?” growled the orc.
Horse shook his head earnestly.
“Were you followed?”
“Yeah,” said the bull, “but I lost them.”
Balthos raised his thick, black eyebrows. “How’d you manage that?”
Horse grinned. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” he replied
cheekily.
Balthos stepped forward, pushing the bull roughly in the chest.
“Listen, cow, you know my name now, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends,
right? I fairly begged our good leader to let me be the one to starve
you.” He leaned in, breathing hot, foul breath in the bull’s face, and
held up his hands. The palest remnant of a rough wound slashed across
each palm. “I won’t forget how I got these,” growled the orc
menacingly. “And even if our leader has, I won’t forget that
you’re not an orc.” He spat. “So don’t sass me, little girl. How’d
you lose them?”
“I just, you know, ducked down an alley and hid behind some garbage cans,”
faltered the bull, his eyes downcast.
The two stood in silence, the orc’s eyes narrowed at the bull. Then, “I’m
keeping my eyes on you,” growled the orc, and without another word, he
turned and marched down the canyon.
Twenty minutes later, the pair arrived at the Revenge’s meager hall. Reltir
and Alkar had already returned, and sat at the guild’s long wooden
table. At the table’s head sat the guild’s leader, and to his right sat
his second in command. Bathos claimed his seat to the leader’s left,
hefting the brown sack onto the table in front of him. Horse stood
awkwardly for a moment, and then took his seat at the foot of the
table. After a moment, Alkir and Kalga arrived, and, arguing jocularly
about something or other, they sat as well.
Without preamble, Bathos stood up and emptied the brown sack onto the
table. Food flooded the table – a pair of enormous baked hams, with
bits of brown cloth stuck in their glazing; half a roasted wild boar; a
cascade of fruits; and, wrapped in what appeared to be the torn remnant
of a tablecloth, a meat and bread pudding of some kind far more upscale
than the orcs were used to so much as seeing. Their eyes popped. Alkar
reached towards the pudding, but Bathos slapped his hand away roughly.
He turned towards Horse. “Horse,” he said gruffly, staring the bull down,
“you have suffered the pangs of starvation for a week now, and you have
trampled into Rocktusk and seized the food with which your ordeal will
end.”
“A hell of a seizing!” said Alkar admiringly. The others grunted in
agreement, but Balthos hissed at him to be quiet.
Then he pointed at the brown sack, lying empty, now, in front of him. “This
is how we eat,” he growled. “If we don’t steal, we starve. This is how
we orcs,” and he accented the word, his eyes narrowing at Horse, “are
forced to live in the land which our ancestors built for us. And we
will – we will steal from the trolls and the humans and the furbolgs
which have infested our land, because what they call theirs was stolen
from us!” His fist pounded the table, and then silence rang out.
“I am Balthos,” he grunted, into the silence, “and I am Thrall’s soldier.
This,” and he pointed to the orc sitting across from him, the guild’s
second in command, “is Ulkat.”
Ulkat, a thick-necked orc with a brown braid of hair sticking straight up from
his otherwise bald head, stood. “I am Ulkat,” he growled, his voice
thick and dangerous. “I am Thrall’s executioner. You are released from
your ordeal.” Horse heaved a sigh of relief and looked towards the food
which spread across the table. “For the first and last time,” continued
Ulkat, “you can choose your food first among us.”
“The pudding!” cried Horse, reaching towards it. Alkar groaned loudly.
Horse grinned. “Half the pudding,” he said, scooping it towards him.
Alkar grinned back.
There were no plates, and there was no ceremony. What they could not eat with
a knife, they ate with their hands, licking their fingers before
grabbing more food from the table. Soon, the table was clear of
everything but peels and bones.
Ulkat got heavily to his feet. “Let’s get this table cleared and out of the
way so everyone can get some sleep tonight,” he growled. “Horse, you
are free for the rest of the day. Your second to last task begins
tomorrow morning.”
Next: Loyalty
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