The Orcs were a simple race to understand. The humans who became orcs had only been this way for 10 years, but most caught onto the role very quickly. The creed of the Orc is simple: “Malvakoth por noth, thin na Kraz.” It roughly means “Live your life for the moment and as you wish.” Their style of living, if left alone, would be anarchy made real. However, in these early years of the New Epoch, the orcs cannot afford to live divided and uncoordinated. So they crated for themselves a simple hierarchy, which is, like the orcs themselves, very simple. Orcshire is run by the High Orc, the largest, most brutal, and most cunning of their kind. Under the High Orc are the 5 Grooks, or Generals. They are powerful orcs who demonstrate higher than average thinking and leadership qualities. They serve directly under the High Orc. Lastly are the Orc Guards. These are the simple Orc people of Orcshire.
Their weapons and armor are crude. Their magic is minimal. Their patience is thin as a blade of grass. Their averace and gluttony legendary. Truly, the Inquisition of Holiness considered all who became orcs to be the most blackhearted and sinful of people. Some might agree…while others might believe that it was the resentment they received from becoming orcs that lead to them accepting their new lot in life. Whatever the case, it was only Grognors luck that he was forced to regularly consort with the High Orc himself.
The Citadel of Orcshire was a rough castle made from the remnants of an old Museum of the old world. Within its walls was the great dining hall that Jessai was often seated at, devouring any meat brought before him. His Grooks were often in attendance, pigging out as well and discussing their plans for expanding Orcshire into the nearby territories. Grognor grumbled as he made his way into the main chamber. Two tall brutish orcs bared his way. One had deep green skin and yellow eyes and a rank stench about him that smelt oddly of blood. The other though, Grognor knew well. He was a little shorter, but no less strong looking and fierce with a pair of tusks under his jaw and his long hair cut into a mowhawk. Grognor hated the sight of it.
“Evening Hija.” He grumbled.
“Jessai’s expect’n ya.” Hija growled. “Yer late, brat.”
“Don’t you call me brat…I’m almost 40 years old.”
“Yer always a runt ta me.” Hija snorted before standing aside. “Go on in.” Grognor didn’t speak to Hija again as he walked inside. Once in, he saw the great dining hall with two Grooks sitting on either side of the table, arm wrestling over the last mutton. At his throne was Jessai himself. He was enormous, almost as tall as Titania! He could be smelt before seen. Jessai had arms and legs like tree trunks and dark green skin with a large jaw and jagged tusks and fangs. He wore a pelt made of cave bears and and iron curias over his chest. His hair was long and unwashed and his dark red eyes fell upon Grognor as he walked in. Seeing him made Jessai grin wickedly as he sat up, scratching his large stomach.
“Aah, welcome back, Grognor.” He laughed. “You kept me waiting.”
“Sorry…had a certain matter to take care of at the Craftsman’s Hall.” He remarked. “What do you want?”
“Why so formal?” Jessai asked. “We used to be so close, Groggy.” Grognor sneered at him but didn’t speak.
“I’m very busy, your highness.” He snorted, stroking his beard. “If this is just a social call…”
“Just shut up and sit down.” Jessai snapped, pointing to a chair at the table. Grognor was a fool to refuse, so obediently he took his seat. As he did, Jessai snapped his large fingers. In walked a lovely young elf girl that Grognor recognized. She was holding a lute in her hands and her hair was tied in a braid. Her clothes was a tattered and basic dress and her pointed ears had small studded earrings in them. Around her ankles were small bronze shackles, and a tattoo was branded on her neck in the shape of a hammer wreathed in flames…the mark of a servant in Orcish society.
“Yes, Lord Jessai?” She asked, nervously.
“My guest is not happy in my court…play something relaxing.” He ordered. The elf, who Grognor knew to be Meriel, nodded and began to play on her lute. The soft and soothing music seemed to have a calming effect on everyone in the room. The Grooks even slowed their eating to enjoy the lovely playing. Grognor relaxed as well, but he did not lower his guard. Meriel was a bard, and had mastered musical magic to cause effects on those who heard it. The only reason she and her mother still lived was because of her agreed servitude to Jessai as his personal musician.
“Feeling better?” Jessai asked. “Now we can act more civilized, yes?”
“Civilized?” Grognor chuckled. “That’s cute…”
“I’ll cut straight to the point,” Jessai snarled, skipping over Grognor’s remark, “the elvish outpost of Serindal to the west of us is prime for attack. They build their fortifications out of that old college campus there, but they have few warriors. My scout tells me that mostly their people are mages, merchants, and farmers. Easy prey…and easily added to my empire.”
“Then what do you want me for?”
“I permitted you to establish the Craftsman’s Lodge only if you agreed to supply my Orcs with arms and armor for war.”
“And I have. If the Elves at Serindal are so weak, why commission any more from me?” Grognor questioned wisely. Jessai snorted.
“You might’ve gained 10 years thanks to the Catastrophe…but you certainly didn’t gain wisdom to go with it, did you? The elves are all too aware that they lack the warriors to combat us, but desperation breeds ingenuity. There is an Inquisitorial Outpost to the south of here, and I have little doubt the Elves will seek help from the Inquisition. They will be formidable. I need you to outfit a garrison with stronger armor in three weeks time. I intend to invade Serindal by the next new moon.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Grognor sneered and spat on the ground, stroking his beard furiously. He pulled his pipe and stuck it in his teeth, lighting it with a match and puffing, trying as hard as he could not to scream. Jessai was mad…ingenious…but mad all the same. The Inquisition of Holiness hated all non-humans, but Orcs especially. Would they really aid an elvish settlement just to strike a blow at Jessai? It was very possible. And if that was the case, the Inquistion had very skilled warriors and mages to do severe damage to Jessai’s forces. The last thing he wanted was to work to build them armor and weapons. But he knew the consequences of failure…he knew what it meant for him and his family…and for the Craftsman’s Lodge.
“What’s your answer?” Jessai asked. “Will you do it?”
“There’s no chance I can have an entire garrison ready in three weeks. I need a month at the least.” He answered.
“Why’s that?” Jessai asked.
“Crafting quality armor and weapons takes time, damn it!” Grognor remarked. “I don’t know if it means anything to you, but to us, making these weapons and armor is a matter of pride! We value our work and, while we may hold our breath, bite our tongues, and weep silently, we make gear for you any way because we lack any other choice in the matter. But I’ll be damned if we make anything less than our best! Even for someone as demented and unworthy as you!”
He had done it.
He’d crossed a line. He knew it, and regretted his words instantly. Jessai’s grin turned from amused to sadistic in the flash of a candle light. Though still smiling, it was clear she was outraged.
“A matter of pride? I had no idea that you valued your work more than you do myself. How sad…we used to be so close. But I suppose that is all in the past, isn’t it?” He reached his hand out and stroked the handle of a large Warhammer next to his throne. “But if our relationship and my generous donations towards the Craftsmans Lodge aren’t enough to get through to you, then I suppose that’s all there is to it? If you really want to defy my wishes, then who am I to stop you?”
“J-Jessai, please let’s not be brash or any-”
“Or perhaps…” Jessai’s eyes flashed, silencing him, “…perhaps I can find other means of motivation?” Jessai asked, rising to his feet. Jessai was a towering force of nature. When standing, the very air seemed to fill with his presence and blood lost. The two Grooks stopped eating and dropped to one knee in his honor. Grognor winced, realizing that he’d angered Jessai, and now he had better back pedal. The music from Meriel had stopped and she too was backing away swiftly.
“That won’t be necessary!”
“Won’t it?” Jessai demanded. “I disagree. It seems you need a reminder of who I am. KRATMOKU!” The two Grooks lunged towards Grognor and grabbed his stubby arms. He struggled furiously to free himself and swung his legs angrily, but they were far too strong and large for him to overpower.
“LET ME GO!” He bellowed. “UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!” He cried. The Grooks shoved him toward Jessai who raised his hammer. With a mighty roar, he brought the head down so sickeningly close to Jessai’s head, a few hairs of his beard were clipped off from the velocity of the swing. He stared in disbelief and awe at the skill and ease at which Jessai could handle that hammer. Jessai snarled as he pulled the hammer up from the crater he left in the stone floor. He then held it to Grognors nose.
“I will make this clear;” he explained, “have my garrison prepared to fight in three weeks time…without complaint…or I will find someone else at your Lodge who can.”
“J-Jessai…you ask the impossible!” Grognor muttered. Jessai let out a low growl and knelt down to Grognor’s level, never once moving the hammer.
“How’s your mom and sister?” Grognor froze at the question. “Are they busy?”
“Leave them alone!”
“If you need more assistance…I can add them to the work detail.”
“No! It’s fine! Don’t include them. I’ll do it! I’ll make your armor, just leave my family alone…please.”
“That’s better, Groggy.” Jessai removed the hammer and turned to walk away. “I suggest you get to work.” The Grooks followed their master out of the dining hall and into the main chambers to discuss battle plans. Meriel, who had been standing all but forgotten in the background, finally dared to run to Grognor and collapse at his side.
“Are you alright!? I thought he was going to kill you!”
“No.” Grognor grumbled. “Jessai won’t kill me…if not for our past relationship, then for the necessity of a blacksmith in town. Which makes me all the more frightened of who he might kill to motivate me.” Meriel teared up slightly and grit her teeth.
“We’re slaves…we’re slaves to a monster…”
“Everyone in Orcshire is, Meriel…” Grognor muttered. He stood up at last and brushed off his beard before slipping a piece of paper from under it, handing it to Meriel. “I’m glad you were called out here…take this, and keep it hidden.” Meriel took the paper and glanced at it. Her eyes widened and her ears perked up in surprise.
“The ogress will help!?”
“Titania’s onboard. The hard part will be getting you and your mother out of this Citadel and to the mountains, north of here without Jessai catching you.”
“There has to be some way.”
“I helped Jessai build this place…I’ll find a way out of it. Just give me some time.” Grognor assured her.
“What time? You have to arm almost a hundred orcs in three weeks.”
“I’ll give Jessai the armor and weapons he demands, but they won’t be of my best quality…I don’t have a choice. It’ll make me sick to my stomach, but rushed jobs never come out great.” Grognor explained. “Besides, I met an alchemist that traveled here a few days ago. He might have some products I can use to speed things up.” As he turned to hobble out of the room, Meriel reached out and touched his arm.
“You’re taking a huge risk for me and my mom…thank you.”
“Don’t mention it…”
“If you don’t mind my asking…what was your relationship with Jessai before he became high orc?” Meriel asked. Grognor paused and glanced back at her.
“I’d really rather not discuss that…it’s a painful memory now. I try to forget the past.”
“It was only 10 years ago…”
“And the transformation I suffered aged me 10 years instantly. Now I’m 20 years older than I should be. I’m nearly 50 now…and I’m tired. Where as Jessai is stronger, faster, and more powerful than ever. You’d think that would award sympathy or even consideration from him…but no…it’s like we were never close.” Meriel smiled.
“Don’t worry, friend…I’ve heard a rumor.”
“A rumor?” Meriel beamed and leaned close to whisper.
“I heard a rumor that the Inquisition has sent an assassin to kill Jessai.” She whispered. “If that’s true, then we could finally be free of this tyrant one day.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Grognor remarked.
“Why not!?” Meriel asked angrily. “Jessai needs to go down!”
“I mean to have hope. To hope is not a good idea. Jessai is high orc for a reason…and if there is an assassin in Orcshire, they will have a hell of a time defeating him. Not only that, but even if they do somehow defeat Jessai, it won’t be the end of our problems. Another Grook will simply take Jessai’s place…or maybe the Inquisition will place their own leaders on the throne and persecute us just as fiercely. No matter which way things go…our only chance of hope lies in one goal.” Grognor explained.
“What’s that?”
“To escape…and survive.” He answered. “Any future in Orcshire, even if it was home once, is meaningless now. We need to get away, Meriel…for all our sakes.”