At first, he was hoping for a human town, mostly because he felt comfortable at the thought of being around people.

Then he remembered how humans treated half-orcs when playing role playing games. But worse, he understood how people treat those who are different. Jason remembered his school days of being bullied for not wanting to be part of any group. He never felt part of any group.

He didn’t fit in.

Those of the bullying nature ceased their opportunity and harassed him to the point of a breakdown.

Now he was standing on the edge of the forest, a human town was a a short walk across farmland, with warm firelight and the sounds of merriment reaching out over the walls, he wasn’t so sure he should enter.

He was now considering seeking out the orc village. Even with a murderous half brother living there, they had solid rules for not attacking him and guards to back the rules up. That doesn’t happen without solid leadership. He may not be welcome, but he could be safer with orcs than humans.

“Do I know where the orc village is?”

“Yes, you do. You have been heading East. To return home, head West along the track. To find Slargut, head North along the edge forest for two hours, then walk into the forest. You will quickly locate Slargut tracks.”

He considered the two hours of walking, the almost certain negative treatment he would get with humans and the certain problem his half-brother would give him. And that excludes the part where he just killed two orcs.

As he stood there, he felt a cold breeze coming down from the mountains. It had the feel of snow in it. Not that it would snow, just that it was snowing in the mountains.

He made a quick mental note that winter is coming after he noticed the autumn leaves falling. He also made another personal note to buy a winter coat, and to make it look awesome in some way.

He sat down to think.

Where would the save location be?

Most games have them in safe places, like towns. But given the six week average to find one, and the 9% survival rate and how easy it was to get here, he had a feeling the save location was not in a town or anywhere safe.

He had a horrible feeling it was somewhere that required direct personal danger.

He told himself, “This is just a game.”

“That is correct. But the consequences are real.”

He ignored her.

Jason had always enjoyed role playing games, at how it could create real emotion, connection, friends and enemies. He marveled with his few friends at how real it seemed at times.

If he was playing his character in a table game, he would enter the town, find a tavern, ask a few questions about what is happening locally, figure out what is happening, order a room then sleep.

As a half-orc in danger of really dying, the decision making was not so simple. He might die for real.

His chest began to tighten up, his breathing became strained, his mind was freezing. He hated stress, and he had plenty of it trying to make a fairly standard decision in this type of game.

He reminded himself, “91% of people die in this game. Why? Is it because it is hard, or did they changed how they played?”

He thought to himself, “This is a game, so play it as if it was one.”

He stood up, looked around himself for no reason, then started walking towards the town. As he got closer his anxiety increased, he could also begin to hear individual voices in the town.

They were celebrating something.

As he approached the walls of the town, he noticed they were made of wood, he assumed it would be temporary or fragile. Yet as he got closer, he realized it was extremely well made The tree sized logs were tightly linked together, gaps didn’t exist, and the outside was sanded down into a fine finish with an oiled finish.

By the time he reached the gate, with the expected couple of armed guards, he had changed his point of view on wooden walled towns. While not as imposing or intimidating as a stone walled castle, it was still a significant barrier to scale.

Grarl approached the guards, who stood as he approached, their hands unconsciously going to their sword hilts. The smiles they had disappeared, yet they maintained their position. He expected them to approach, they didn’t. Grarl simply walked into the town without issue.

Under the gatehouse and into a plaza. There were about one hundred people dancing to musicians playing recorders and drums to encourage joyous movement. The people dance to the music in abundance.

Grarl simply walked around the plaza. He wanted to avoid interacting with anyone, to find the tavern he desired and get the plan over with as quickly as possible. While people were happy, dancing, laughing and hugging, each person he got close to stopped smiling, a serious face replaced the mirth, the talking ceased, and they all watched him make his way past them.

When he walked by them, and they felt safe again, they would laugh nervously, with the occasional taunt by those brave enough to risk it. Grarl ignored them.

He understood the fear in many ways. He was a fully head taller than most men, was half as heavy as them, was carrying a sword, had dirty green skin, a face only a mother could love and a racial reputation that was terrible.

Stolen novel; please report.

He didn’t want to add to the reputation in a way that worsened it.

He walked the edge of the plaza, seeking a tavern sign, he wanted it over with. He was almost on the other side of the plaza when he saw a tavern sign.

Image result for the pig and whistle tavern [https://pigandwhistletavern.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/Piggy-Logo-350.jpg]

He couldn't read it but it was close enough. He made his way to the sign, found the door, ducked his head through the door and entered a new environment.

The room was warm, wooden furniture that was all stained dark and showing the tree rings off to great effect. The bar itself was along one wall, a few stools had people sitting on them. The mood was oddly low, nobody was really talking and in direct contrast to the joy going on in the plaza just outside.

Many of the people in the tavern looked up, saw him, then went back to what they were doing as if nothing special had happened.

It felt weird to go from moderate fear and stares, to nobody caring in the distance of a doorway. He wanted to feel relief, but on closer inspection, the people in the room all carried swords, were scarred, and unbothered by his presence.

He looked towards the voice to see three half-orcs, two male, one female, all armored up and with travel gear under the table. They were smiling at him. That was a good sign.

He first walked to the bar, checked the prices on the wall but couldn’t read them. He asked, “How much for a jug of ale?”

The bar tender looked at Grarl like he was stupid, then said, “How hard did you get hit on that head?”

“How much?” he asked more firmly. It was hard to tell if he should be friendly or not, but given he has a lowish charisma, he went with the attitude of “I am always slightly pissed off” approach.

“2sp, you grumpy bastard.”

Jason smiled a little inside. He took 1gp out of his pouch, placed it on the bar and said, “Keep them coming.”

You now have 20gp

He then walked to the apparent friends. As he walked, he said quietly to Anna “Who are these guys?”

“They are part of a small group of half-orcs that you are involved with. You have all decided that since you are in both worlds, you would rather stop both sides from fighting than having to pick a side. You are all working together to maintain an uneasy peace between orcs and humans in this region. SO far, it is failing”

“How many are there in this group?”

“Four half orcs.”

He reached them, they all stood to welcome him but as the first one stood he froze and said, “Going by the new fuck ass scar on your scalp, I take it the meeting with Grimshaw didn’t go to plan.”

Before Grarl could answer the half-orc wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tightly.

The female was next, “Good to see you again.” Her hug wasn’t as rough, a gentler embrace.

The last just laughed at the scar, pat him on the head and said, “I told you your brother would try to kill you.”

Grarl put his hand on his scalp, as he wasn’t aware of the scar nor had he inspected it in any way. What he felt shocked him somewhat. His hand ran along his head and felt a deep, fresh healing wound that went from above his brow to the peak of his skull. The thickness of the wound was the same as a sword.

How had he survived such an injury?

The jug of ale arrived with four mugs. The barman placed them in the middle of the table and walked away. Grarl called to him, “It was only for me.”

“Fuck you Grarl.”

The others all laughed. Grarl sat down, grabbed his mug, poured his own drink and took a few gulps. The ale wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. Definitely not the kind of refined beer in his own world.

The woman asked, “So, the new scar?”

Before answering, he drank more ale. He thought “What the hell am I going to tell them?”

He also wonder why Anna was not telling him anything, or how to communicate with her without talking.

You are able to communicate with your thoughts alone. Speaking to me is optional.

He thought, “Bitch. You could have told me that. And what are their names, what will I tell them about the scar?”

She remained silent. Apparently calling an AI a bitch offends it.

“Fucking bitch.” May as well double down.

He said, “Grimshaw and I met at Slargut, we talked, he disagreed then tried to kill me by smacking his sword on my head. The fight was stopped before I could kill him.”

The hugger half-orc….. they call themselves Orckin….. said, “How did he not kill you. Your brother is a killer through and through a shot like that would normally be your end. You are lucky to be alive.”

Grarl said, “Well, he failed, I got it sort of healed, retreated to the hut up in the hills nearby and rested up. But he tried again when I was coming here. I killed his two buddies and he ran off into the woods.”

The woman was surprised. She said, “Grimshaw ran away?”

Jason wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed like Grimshaw could have easily killed him, that he is clearly a skilled warrior, and nobody here understood why the orc would run from a winning fight.

Grarl said, “I don’t get it either. I killed his mates, he ran off. I don’t care why he ran, I am just happy he did.”

Head patter orckin said, “I can drink to that.” He filled every mug, handed them around and they all drank the entire thing in one go.

Grarl was beginning to like the ale, a little bit. He asked, “So, while I was earning new scar badges, what have you all been up too?”

Head Patter orc said, “Well, Triuk here found a place we can set up home. He found a spot just North of here, perfect position to put ourselves in. And Nunda there told the Mayor of this god forsaken town to give the land to us for free in exchange for improving the levels or peace between them and them.”

Nunda added, “That is why they are celebrating. They are hoping this is the end of the standoff.”

Grarl asked, “Is it though?”

Triuk answered, “Unlikely, but let them be happy for now. It has been tough lately for everyone.”

Head Patter said, “I can drink to that.” He filled the mugs again, and again they drank the entire mug until empty.

The bar tender returned with a second jug.

Grarl said, “They were meant just for me.”

“Fuck you Grarl.” Then walked off.

Nunda said, “The new crack in the head has made you nicer.”

Triuk said, “We can drink to that too.”

They all laughed, drank another mug and kept talking. Grarl was feeling quite good. Maybe he would make it out of here alive after all.

The bar tender returned, empty handed, to say, “Your rooms are ready, Grarl has paid for them all. Also, the mayor wants to see you all in the morning.”

He turned around and before Grarl could say anything he answered, “Fuck you Grarl.”

They all laughed again. With each joyous sound they made, even if it was guttural and rough, the tension in the tavern eased.

Jason thought, “Yeah, I am going to be okay.” He took another swig of ale and just listened to them talk.