As I headed toward the lake, I picked up a familiar scent. Troll. I followed my nose and found a troll lair, occupied by a rather large male.

The ensuing fight was brutally short, and barely worth calling a struggle. I knew the capabilities of a troll quite well by now. I paralyzed the brute with a few well placed quills, then executed it with a massive electric shock to the head. My mouth tightened in a feral grin. I had certainly grown stronger since my first encounter with a troll.

I devoured the corpse, save for the femurs, and a few other bones that were still too tough for me to bite through. I was glad to have a new club once more. I carried both femurs with me, having recently learned the value of spare equipment. After I was done with the lake, I’d modify them to suit my needs and try to come up with a good way to hold them without my hands. I doubted they’d be of any use underwater, based on my poor experience of trying to fish with my hands.

As we broke through the forest cover, I took in the sight of the lake. It was long and narrow, filling the bottom of the valley, and the crystal clear water afforded a spectacular view of its sharply sloped floor that descended into darkness once you got more than a few yards from the shore.

“Ooh, look, over there! There’s an orc village here! They’re really violent, but they become quite reasonable once you kill a few of the stronger ones or show off overwhelming strength. Hmm, you can play that one whichever way you like. They’re not too disruptive, ecologically, and are really just kind of xenophobic dicks, but they respect strength above all else. They just happen to treat most other humanoids as inferior because they didn’t happen to be born with hyper-dense muscles that grow super easily.”

I rifled through James’ memories, pulling out what information I could on orcs. There was a lot of conflicting information, and little of it lined up with what Dendra had told me. The only thing that did stand out to me was an apparent link or relationship to goblins. Oh, how I hoped they would not reek as bad as goblins.

I thought on it and decided to play it by ear. My own information was unreliable, and Dendra hadn’t really misled me yet.

I ambled along the shore, heading towards the orc village. I could just make out the green humanoids moving about in the distance. There seemed to be a flurry of activity within the cluster of huts and crude stone buildings at the lakeside. After a few minutes, a group assembled and set forth from the village, following the lakeshore towards me.

Well, that would make things easier.

About a half mile away from the village, I came to a stop in front of the greeting party. I studied them closely. There were eight of the green-skinned creatures standing before me, and they all ranged from five and a half to six feet tall, and were built like bodybuilders. Some were clad in metal and leather armor, while others were clad in rough clothing, and one wore naught but a loin cloth; the latter of which eyed me aggressively. They smelled of an odd mix of leather, vinegar, and peanuts. Definitely not like goblins, then.

One of the orcs in the rough spun clothing spoke in a guttural and harsh sounding language. Like German filtered through a garbage disposal, James’ memories proffered. Dendra translated for me.

“Halt! You are trespassing on the territory of the Moon Cutter Tribe. Leave, or die.”

I listened to Dendra’s whispered translation and advice, before speaking up, following Dendra’s suggested wording. “I challenge your champion for the right to wander this area freely.”

The orcs gargled gravel at each other for a minute or so, before the orc in the loincloth stepped forward. “I accept your challenge!” Dendra translated his roar for me.

Based on the standards of James’ world, this orc was a truly impressive specimen. His muscles bulged and strained at his skin, and he was nearly as broad as he was tall. I’d be surprised if he had more than a few ounces of fat on his entire frame.

Not knowing the specifics of the ritual, I stepped forward and waited and stared at him until he attacked. While there was a modicum of power behind the blows he launched, he was slow and inflexible. I easily slipped around his first few strikes with almost no conscious thought before I realized it was time to start.

Well, there’s no victory like overwhelming victory. I ducked under a strong right cross then came up from beneath and grabbed his sternum with my right hand, my claws sinking in like they would if I’d grabbed a pillow, aside from the sound of ribs breaking. I unleashed a middling strength electrical bolt in that spot, then released my grip and allowed the corpse to fall to the ground. I studied it for a brief moment, and concluded that to just leave it would be a terrible waste, and that eating the fallen orc would make a strong impression on the gathered group. Without any delay, I tore manageable pieces off the fallen champion and devoured them while Dendra began to rapidly speak to the orc welcoming party. Five minutes later, I was escorted into the village by a group of very nervous but seemingly respectful orcs.

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Dendra translated a lot of useless cultural information the orcs were spouting off, and I ignored her in turn.

All of the construction looked fresh, And I could find neither sight nor scent of any little orclings. This village was definitely brand new. I followed my nose to the communal fishing area, where a number of strips of fish and various meats were drying on racks above smokey fires. I took a few moments to sniff through each one, but the aura had already faded from these samples. However, they did smell quite interesting. Dendra took to asking the orcs about the game and fish they caught, and any interesting characteristics they had, and I listened as she relayed the information to me. The orcs seemed to be watching my every move, but I wasn’t overly bothered. I snatched one of the dried pieces of fish from the smoking racks and sampled it. The added flavor was quite good, much better than the simple roasted fish I’d eaten previously. If it weren’t obvious that this method took a long time to do, I’d consider trying it on one of my next kills. Perhaps next time I killed something I didn’t need to integrate?

The orcs, via Dendra, told me of the various beasts in the area. In the forest, they were the only thing around that I’d yet to come across. In the water and along the shore, they described some creatures that piqued my interest.

The first was one that was called a fog turtle. They were difficult to hunt because of their namesake; when spooked, they would emit a thick cloud of roiling mist that would quickly fill the area. Nearby fog turtles would then join in, and the entire area would become shrouded in dense fog that masked scent and dampened noise while the turtles retreated to the water or other hiding places. The orcs apparently still hunted them at every opportunity, even if most attempts ended in failure or, at best, one or two caught. They apparently enjoyed the taste of their meat, and used their shells to make a number of tools when they couldn’t afford to trade for good steel implements.

The second was the giant mole beaver. It was a large, predatory beaver that had teeth capable of biting through solid rock. Despite the name, it did not dig tunnels through the ground, but it did excavate stone and dirt to form its home. It constructed its lodges of wood, stone and mud, and tended to ambush prey at the lake’s edge. There was a decent sized colony of them on the other shore of the lake. The orcs did not hunt them often, but when they did, they prized their teeth for making tools and small knives, which were on par with those made of good steel.

The last one was something they called the Master of Orc Village Lake. Dendra giggled as she told me about this, and added that orcs were well known for their unimaginative and overly straightforward names. They had little solid information on the Master of Orc Village Lake, other than that it was a very large fish, and it would aggressively attack any boats, canoes or rafts on the water, and presumably ate the occupants. However, it seemed to ignore anyone brave enough to swim in the water.

I decided to start off my hunt with the giant mole beavers. I leaned my two troll femurs against one of the huts, and walked straight into the water from the orc village, then shifted to my aquatic form. I figured I might as well figure out how to swim properly while I was at it.

I spent a few hours figuring out the most efficient way to swim. I couldn’t directly rely on the instincts of the fish that I’d eaten, as my body was simply far too different. In the end, it was mostly trial and error. Even James’ memories didn’t help much, as my body was simply laid out too different from that of a human, my arms didn’t rotate in the same way as theirs, and my lower body had more in common with what James’ memories picked out as a kangaroo and a dinosaur, as opposed to a human. Even the scaly humans —Lizardmen— had a more upright stance and humanoid shoulders than I did. However, I did make decent use of the ‘doggy paddle’ technique as a basis and worked from there. Eventually, my main technique developed to include sinuous movement of my whole body in an almost corkscrew pattern, aided by more precise kicks and paddling from my limbs. It was still a long ways from perfect, but it would do for now.

Having learned to swim well enough, I reoriented myself, and swam to the area the orcs had pointed out as the nesting site for the giant mole beaver colony. In the fading light of dusk I surfaced and looked over the area, I picked out a dozen of the lodges spread out over a few hundred yards of shoreline. I picked the one furthest to my right and swam toward it.

Although my vision underwater was far inferior to what it was above water, my magic perception, scent, and, surprisingly, electrical perception were quite well enhanced. I could sense the giant mole beavers making their way back to their lodges, so I waited. I studied my surroundings, and noted numerous types of fish, and even experimentally tried to catch some without resorting to electricity. I managed to catch and eat a single fish, which as far as I was concerned was a success.

I waited until it had been properly dark for a couple hours before I headed for the marked lodge. Once I reached the threshold, I burst forth from the water onto the miniature hillock where the beast rested. It woke from the sloshing and splashing of my entry, and fought with me.

My claws tore long rents in its hide, and its teeth bit into my shoulder until they struck bone, and after a brief snag, kept going. My left arm dangled uselessly as it tried to reposition to bite my throat, but I managed to snake my head under and latch onto its throat. Due to our positions and the cramped space, I had difficulty reaching it with my tail, so I ignored that option, and focused on rending and tearing with my right hand as I pumped venom into its neck and crunched down on its windpipe. It still struggled firecely and tried as best it could to bite at my shoulders and back while I savaged its neck.

Then, remembering my newly acquired abilities, I charged my right hand and sank my claws deep into the beast’s side before discharging. I barely felt the current that passed over to me as the giant mole beaver stiffened and fell still.