After surreptitiously asking around about where Captain Jericho hailed from, I discovered she was born and raised in the Steppes of Strife, which is just past the Pillars of Strife, a geological location from which her free company has taken its moniker. It is the only safe path through the mountains to the steppes and is known for its tall and thin rock formations, along with countless deadly predators. Further inquiry educated me on some aspects of the customs and manner of dress for the people living there, and as such, I quickly fashioned an outfit to match.
I am no [Tailor], but I had watched Mother closely as she went about her craft, and indeed, I had a fair amount of practice making my own clothes after her passing. I did dabble in a few Skills to help me out in the process, and while I could not make clothes with as fine of quality as Mother, nor nearly as quickly, by the time I had to get back to work in the morning, I had fashioned myself a silk deel, which is a fancy robe or overcoat. I didn’t have the time to embroidery all the details, so I cheated. With [Enchanting] Skills being put to task, and a smattering of Illusion magic, I had a deel with a black background with yellow dragons adorning it. The cuffs were likewise golden, and I wore a golden silk sash and leather gutal boots that had no laces, also of a black and gold color palette. I also wore a toortsog on my head, which is a round, conical, and formal hat. My boots and hat also had illusions and enchantments powering their patterns, for putting the proper shapes of everything together took far too much time.
Everything I wore had a draconic motif, and indeed, black and gold colors had been my theme for a while now unless I wanted to blend in with the masses. I counted my lucky stars that I hoarded every kind of leather and fabric I came across for both outfits and my inevitable practice crafting enchantments. To be fair, I hoarded pretty much any kind of crafting material I came across, at least to the limits of what my pocket dimensions could hold, with the expectation that I would eventually get around to using them. I had ample practice back in Berkerin with all manner of artisans learning the basics of every craft I could, and so I purchased all the materials I would need to do just about anything I could set my mind to.
Satisfied with my craftsmanship, I reluctantly had to go to work digging the tunnel instead of doing more touch-ups. I probably would have fiddled with it for hours on end with diminishing returns on any improvements for my efforts, so perhaps it was for the best that the sun decided to rise yet again.
The process of digging the path for the tunnel, refining the stone into obsidicrete and obsidisteel, and then building the proper structure of the tunnel passageway had become closer to trivial thanks to my Skill upgrades. We were easily going five times faster, and that felt slow only because we had yet to work through the logistics of how much faster we could go and as to what parts of the process I could leave to the regular workers. Torborg and I had to stop around noon just to hash out a plan to fix our production process because the workers were completely overloaded with more material than they could process. We ultimately called off work on the tunnel a few hours early because the workers were too exhausted to continue.
I, however, was still fit as a fiddle. My mana reserves were well over half-full thanks to my improved efficiency at processing materials and dimensional storage. However, instead of going home early, Torborg and I continued to go through the minutiae of who would be responsible for what tasks. Ultimately, I took most of the tunnel work upon myself. Clearing the rock and fashioning materials became solely my job, as well as placing blocks mostly into location. The workers would handle the rest from there, for those tasks require more perception and finesse than needed for normal grunt work. That did leave us with a small army of workers who no longer had a task to perform, so we set them to harvesting lumber and building palisades along the road. Armies marching this way would need places to rest for the night, and defensive forts along the route would help them immensely.
By the appointed hour for the tea party, I found myself freshly bathed, groomed, and dressed for the occasion. Strictly speaking, I had sufficient Abilities to clean myself without a bath, but bathing in hot water feels better and provides oneself with more opportunities to socialize with a few beautiful and fortunate ladies.
Speaking of beautiful ladies, I spotted Captain Jericho waiting for me outside of town hall. She wore traditional clothes in the same vein as my own, albeit those traditionally appropriate for females. A riot of various colors, decorations, and strips of cloth adorned her outfit, so I struggle to properly describe it in detail, but rest assured that she looked spiffy. As I approached and we locked eyes, I detected a delighted and approving smile plaster itself upon her eager face.
“Why hello there, tall, green, and handsome! I’m glad you showed up.” She rushed over to me with more pep in her step than perhaps decorum dictated appropriate, so I took that as a sign that she wanted to get to know me.
“Greetings and salutations to you, too, Captain Jericho,” I replied as I held out both arms to her, right palm down and left palm up. She extended her arms likewise, and with each hand, we grasped each other’s forearms just below the elbow in greeting.
“Oh, Captain Jericho is my work name. I’m off the clock, so call me Jericho,” she responded as we finished our greeting and let go of one another. Wasting no time, she swiveled around to my side and hooked her arm with mine as she nuzzled in close to me.
“Would you kindly escort me inside?” she inquired with an inviting look in her eyes.
“It would be my absolute privilege and delight to have such an honor bestowed upon me,” I answered with a toothy grin on my face. I thought it would take longer to get used to my protruding lower canines jutting upwards, but shapeshifting as I do gives me the proper insights to feel natural in my new body. Ergo, my lips didn’t get stuck on my teeth.
With other people also making their way inside, we merged into the flow of traffic and found ourselves a seat at a table. The chair strained at my weight as if it would fall apart at any moment. Feeling it in my hand, I could tell it was made of a light wood, and even Chooka could crush the wood to a pulp in her hands. None of the chairs or tables had any sharp edges, which to me spoke of some degree of quality craftsmanship. So, why was everything so flimsy otherwise?
The table itself was covered in white cloth, with only room for two seats on one side. All the tables were on the outside of the room with all chairs situated that everyone faced the center of the room. Our table had teacups, saucers, spoons, and a teapot, all of which were made of brass, which I assumed would be a little too soft and delicate for orcish strength. Perhaps that was the point, that everyone had to employ deft skill in handling everything so that nothing would break.
In hardly any time, the room had filled with all manner of orcs, with skin colors from dark green to light, some getting to an orangish-brown tint, while others were hued with blue. The formal attire varied greatly, with everything from women in kimonos to men looking like the quintessential barbarian kings of legend with their furs and leather, along with those in elaborate dresses and simple button-up dress shirts with slacks, for each operated at their means of acquiring formal clothing. Many had symbols of heraldry, denoting either family, clan, or tribe. Surely, orcs all across the continent had gathered to help build this road, and yet they displayed cordial attitudes that suggested the solidarity of being orcs came before any disagreements between governments. Of note, all were beautiful and young, so perhaps only the best specimens of orcish blood were invited to the tea party.
“This is your first time attending a tea party, yes?” a sultry voice whispered into my left ear.
“Indeed it is,” I replied back in hushed tones to Jericho as I leaned towards her. “I would appreciate your continued guidance so I can avoid any faux paus that would bring dishonor upon me, for I know very little about the proper etiquette of such a ceremony.”
Her arm wrapped around mine, hugging it to her bosom as she continued to whisper sweet things into my ear. “A man as handsome of body and dress as you will surely draw attention, and so allow me to elucidate the proper decorum you will need to observe.”
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She smiled sweetly at me as she provided me with the information I needed. By the time we finished her crash course, all guests had been seated. When a gong was struck, all voices quieted as everyone found their seats, each person sitting up straight with hands flat upon the tables in front of them. Then, a person whom I can only describe as the final boss of tea parties entered the room as escorted by two handmaidens. Her outfit was a riot of color and a motley collection of ribbons, charms, jewelry, and just about every doodad that could have been tossed her way. I’m pretty sure that if she walked past a murder of crows, they would have stripped her to the bone in following their instincts to collect shiny things. She stopped in the center of the room, and with the grace of a dancer, she slowly spun on one foot as she addressed the room, her handmaidens walking around her so as to always stay by her side.
“Behold, let thine eyes be drawn to me. Hark, let thine ears heed my voice,” she spoke in orcish, which I didn’t even realize I knew until now. Perhaps being an orc let me comprehend the language - not that any orcs ever spoke it in public, but I knew the language for what it was.
“Tonight, we share in fellowship of our trials and tribulations, of our accomplishments and deeds, of our mistakes and fortunes as we journey through this life, that we may each and everyone one of us be found worthy to feast in the halls of Grel’la’kel upon our deaths.”
“May honor and death be ours to claim,” intoned the handmaidens that walked around the MC.
“May honor and death be ours to claim,” chanted back all of us in attendance at our seats.
Without more ceremony, the MC and handmaidens nobly strode over to their seats at the head… table? After a quick search, I detected that the table was off to the side. After the MC took her seat, the handmaidens carried the table over and into place, then they took their seats.
“Now, let us join in fellowship and enjoy a cup of tea in harmony with our neighbor,” announced the MC as she lifted the brass teapot before her. With deft movements, she poured tea into the cups of each of her handmaidens.
Almost as one, everyone on the left side of their respective tables reached for their teapots and poured tea into the cup of their neighbor at their table before placing the teapot back to its resting spot with the spout facing the left. As Jericho instructed me earlier, and indeed as everyone in the room demonstrated, I then took the teapot and poured the tea into Jericho’s cup. I returned the teapot to its resting spot with the spout facing the center of the room.
In unison, everyone present lifted their teacups to their lips and drank it down in one go. The tea had a pleasant and minty taste, and it was the perfect temperature for drinking comfortably. I then returned my cup to my saucer, as did all present, and no one went back for seconds with the tea.
“Who here has a grievance they wish to air?” inquired the MC of the room without addressing anyone in particular.
One burly orc stood up, one dressed like a barbarian king, minus the weapons, which somehow did not make him any less opposing.
“I, Tortok of the Grinning Wolf clan, take issue with Rummela of the Fire Valley clan. Why, when I commissioned you to sharpen the axes of my work crew, did you not complete sharpening a single one for three days?” he asked an orc lady in fine silks whom I can only assume to be Rummela.
The handmaidens hurried over to Tortok’s table, and picking it up, they carried it over to the center of the room and placed it down side-on to the MC. The woman, Rummela, stood up to answer her challenger.
“I, Rummela of the Fire Valley clan, would have words with Tortok of the Grinning Wolf clan, that we may avoid discord between us.”
Apparently reaching an accord, Tortok and his neighbor picked up their chairs and made their way to their table, while Rummela and her neighbor did the same. Only once all were at their respective table did they sit down. Over a few minutes, they talked through their differences, which felt a bit like a soap opera. Long story short, logistics, overwork, and conflicting orders had led to Rummela not being able to complete her work order to sharpen the axes, and the two of them found an amicable agreement as to how to proceed. Tortok, the offended party, poured tea for Rummela, and she in turn poured tea for Tortok. They then each drank their tea in one go, placing their cups back down onto their saucers.
Interestingly enough, no one returned to where they had been positioned before at the exterior of the room. The MC asked if any more had a grievance to air, and the whole process repeated itself four more times without issue. It was on the sixth such observance of the ritual of peaceful resolution of conflict that things soured.
One heated orc stood, and, grabbing his chair, he swung it down hard on the orc he had a disagreement with. The chair shattered upon contact, and seemingly unphased by the impact, the chair-stricken orc grabbed the brass teapot and smashed it into the face of his attacker. The fight quickly grew rowdy as other innocent bystanders were hit with errant fists and furniture. Before long, the center of the room devolved into an all-out brawl, which quickly spilled to the outside of the room.
Before I knew it, I found myself in a battle royale. Jericho and I defended ourselves from our neighbors, but I soon found myself in a contest with only Jericho herself. As I caught sight of the action around the room with [Observers], I noticed that most people were not fighting just one or two people, and most were fighting someone of the opposite gender. However, I detected some unspoken rules to the chaos. No one was breaking bones or otherwise maiming their opponent, but otherwise, furniture and dishware was being broken with reckless abandon.
Right next to us, a male orc bit into the female he was fighting, right where the neck met the shoulder, and a moan escaped her mouth that sounded out of place for a battlefield. I detected no lack of ecstasy in her voice, and she sunk her fingernails into his back and raked them down towards his posterior. Likewise, around the room, men and women were ripping the clothes off their opponents, many caught in a grapple and taking it to the floor, where hostilities devolved into the pursuit of more base instincts.
So shocked was I by the proceedings that Jericho managed to land a swift kick right between my legs, and for the life of her, I don’t think she held back even slightly. Angered and strangely aroused, I was surprised that the pain only spurred on how attracted I was to her. In retaliation, I quickly feigned a haymaker, only to give another feigned kick with my left leg. The true attack was still with the haymaker, but instead of a punch, I aimed lower and grabbed her by the throat. My left leg, also not a complete feint, moved behind her, and pushing her off balance as she fell into my leg, I choke-slammed her to the floor.
A husky grunt escaped her throat as I quickly pounced on top of her. Straddling her waist and pinning her arms above her head, I felt driven by madding lust and instinct as I leaned over and bit her on the neck as I had seen demonstrated earlier. For a moment, my mind wandered to a remark made by an orc named Gulfore about “not enough teeth”, when Skull illuminated my merry band about her and my own escapades in romance, and suddenly Gulfore’s words made sense. Teeth are good.
All around the room, men and women were biting and clawing one another as moans of pain and pleasure filled the room. Women were ripped out of bodices that they wore beneath their clothes. The handmaidens handed out pillows, blankets, silk ropes, and other toys to those who wanted them.
Flogs made snapping sounds as they struck bare skin. Bottoms were turned red by the ministrations of paddles. A quite literal orgy of pain and pleasure could be found all across the room that now lay littered with broken furniture and bodies intermingled in the pursuit of lust.
“Ravage me, handsome,” demanded a defiant and concupiscent Jericho who offered the pretense of unyielding resolve as she struggled in my grasp.
“Don’t you mean, ‘ravish me’?” I asked.
“No, no I do not. Take me, and be rough,” she answered back with a smile on her face.
And so what had started as a prim and proper ceremony had spiraled out of control into a night of indulgences in passion and desire. Few and far between were the boundaries of deeds performed, although it did seem that all respected the consent of their partners. By most humanoid standards, the orcs were brutal to one another, yet none seemed to be dealt more than they could take. Orcs had a reputation for being prude in public, and now I understood that they required lovers who could handle such savagery. I had explored such ‘deviant’ behaviors with past lovers, but the orcs took it to an extreme.
And so, as the night drew late, Jericho and I, much like many others with their respective paramours, found ourselves cuddling with one another in a sea of sweaty bodies, broken furniture, and toys not meant for children. Slowly, individuals, couples, and larger groups found the remnants of their clothes and brought them to the MC, who worked her magic to repair clothes and bodies alike into serviceable condition to allow an appropriate level of modesty for the trek home.
“That was fun,” I confided in Jericho as we made our way out of the building. “Care to come back to my place for round two?”