Richard heard his name. He swung his gaze towards the source, catching sight of a formidable man rapidly striding in his direction. This behemoth of a man towered approximately six-and-a-half feet tall, had a breadth akin to an orc, and showcased bulging muscles that flexed with each purposeful step. His complexion was peculiar, almost like a pink orc if one dared to envision such a creature. Unsettled and uncertain, Richard remained rooted, eyes glued to the advancing figure.

The colossal figure slumped without grace into the chair opposite Richard. The chair beneath him groaned audibly, protesting against his massive weight. Leaning over the table, his wild, unnerving gaze bored into Richard. Tangled beard and hair strained against the confines of a hair net, a requirement for all the cooks. “Richard, you old dog!” The man sneered, his mismatched eyes widening unevenly. Richard couldn’t help but notice the gaps in his teeth.

“Wait a minute. Where’s your scar?” The man’s voice boomed, echoes of a forgotten battlefield lingering in his tone. He squinted, his eyes narrowing into slits as they studied Richard. His pinkie, large and rough like the rest of him, traced a path down his face, starting from the furrowed forehead, crossing his left eye, and down to the weather-beaten cheek. “Don’t tell me you got rid of it. I worked hard, giving you that scar,” he growled, his voice filled with a hint of both pride and accusation.

Richard’s eyes went wide with surprise. This enormous man was the legendary Barbarian Battleax of the Battleax clan from the region of Battleax (not a bastion of creativity, those barbarians). Richard’s father, Richard (orcs, dear reader, aren’t particularly creative either), fought this man in the Orc Wars. They were mortal enemies.

A hush fell over the tavern, a silence so profound it could rival a crypt’s. The elf bard was watching with a mischievous grin. She was going to write an epic ballad about this fight.

Straightening his posture, Richard locked his gaze with the barbarian’s, his voice steady as he said, “You must be Battleax of the Battleax clan from the region of Battleax. I am Chief Richard, son of Chief Richard.”

Old Battleax cast his crazed eyes down to the table, “Oh, the old orc is gone?” Richard stayed silent. The old barbarian looked up, “He was a good orc. The best with a spear.” Battleax shook his head, “I hope I get to battle with him again in the afterlife. He was,” Battleax paused with a frown, “He was the best mortal enemy a guy could ever have.” His sudden pounding on the table startled everyone, “We’ll battle in the afterlife! It’ll be grand!” His eyes gleamed wild with a ragged, toothy grin.

Taken aback, a flicker of confusion clouded Richard’s eyes, “Do barbarians,” he started, his voice hesitant as he navigated this unexpected topic, “go to Orc Heaven?”

“No!” Battleax laughed, “It’s west of Orc Heaven, in the mountains. Ah, one day.” The crazy eyes went unfocused, and the old barbarian began to sing, “Rocky roads take me there, to a heaven so fair.” The barbarian took a big inhale and screamed out, “Wystginia! Free to roam, my heavenly home!”

“Dad!” shouted the woman who had taken Richard’s order, “Stop singing. You’ll scare the customers away!”

Battleax looked at her, his eye darting wildly, but then calmed. “Ah, Batty, you’re right.” He turned to the tavern and shouted, “Sorry!” He waved to the elf on stage, who, with some disappointment, began to strum her instrument.

“So, you are old Richard’s pup.” He pointed to the frowning woman beside him, “This is my daughter, Battleax. Behind the bar is my son Battleax. The one in the kitchen is my other son Battleax. By the door is my youngest, Battleax.” Battleax senior looked at a confused face of Richard and shrugged, “Uh, it’s an old family name. We stick with what works.”

Richard laughed, “Tradition is important. Is the bar cat’s name Battleax too.” He pointed to the cat sleeping on the bar.

Battleax’s eyes went wide, “No! That’s Cuddles.” The old barbarian leaned over the table towards Richard, “I’d be careful, pup. That ain’t no cat.” Before Richard could say anything, Battleax hollered, “Bat, another round of ale. Hey Ax,” He shouted into the kitchen, “Fix me some hot wings; I’m eating with my new buddy.”

Richard watched the Battleaxes go to work. “Batty, Bat, Ax,” Richard said, “Good way to tell them apart” He looked towards the door, “Uh, BA?”

Battleax roared with laughter, “Good guess, and it was. But the boy is going through a phase. Gave himself a silly nickname.” The old man turned to look at his son, “Isn’t that right, Greg!”

Greg rolled his eyes and looked away. Richard noticed that, unlike the other Battleaxs, Greg wore all black. His outfit looked like a robe or something a monk would wear.

“The boy doesn't even want to carry a battleaxe,” The old barbarian grumbled, “He’s too good for it. Wants to carry something called nunchucks. Swing sticks on a rope. And that silly outfit. Bah!”

Richard laughed; he didn’t know what a nunchuck was, but from the bulging muscles of Greg, no matter what, it would hurt.

Batty returned with three plates and two new pints of ale. She slid two plates in front of Richard and one in front of Battleax, their contents causing wafts of mouth-watering aroma to float up and dance around their nostrils. One bore what looked like a perfectly round pieces of bread, its surface darkened to a crisp and speckled with grains of salt. The other matched the plate in front of Battleax. It was a mound of meat, its glistening surface seared to a perfect brown, and it had a smoky, spicy scent that tickled the senses.

Stolen novel; please report.

Batty winked and said, “Good luck, and enjoy.”

Battleax grabbed a piece of meat off his plate and slurped the meat off the bones. He chewed, swallowed, and grunted before he grabbed the next piece. Richard followed the barbarian’s lead. He grabbed a piece of meat and sucked off the meat as best he could, leaving two bones.

Richard enjoyed the rich, spicy flavor. A faint burn began to register as he reached for the next piece. Abruptly, it transformed into a blazing inferno, searing the inside of his mouth. He seized his pint of ale, gulping it down in a desperate attempt to douse the burning. He wiped away the sweat beading on his brow.

Battleax erupted into laughter, hammering the table. “It’s got a kick!” He grabbed another wing, eating it without hesitation.

Richard liked it. Noticing the old barbarian was ahead of him, he picked up another wing. They matched each other wing for wing. Each taking long draws from their pint of ale, eyeing the other as they ate.

“Try the pretzel. It’s a tavern favorite.” Battleax suggested.

Following his lead, Richard took a bite of the round, salted bread - the pretzel. It lacked the spice of the wings but had its own unique appeal. He savored the added flavor of the salt.

Once they finished the wings, Battleax belched and rubbed this stomach. Richard nibbled on the pretzels.

“So, what brings you to my tavern?” Battle Ax asked.

“I wanted to see the elf sing; I heard he was good,” Richard said.

“She’s the best,” Battleax said, “Her dad was one of the generals during the Orc Wars.”

Richard thought for a moment. “Oh, uh, she’s good. That song was, it, was, like home.”

Battleax gives him a wink, “Don’t worry. I get those pronouns mixed up too. My old eyes don’t do so well anymore. Thought she was a boy for about a month until Batty took me aside and corrected me. She didn’t mind; she knew I didn’t mean no harm.”

Richard smiled, thinking of the twins. They didn’t mind their names and no one cared. They were who they were.

“So you just wanted to hear pretty music?” Batttleax asked.

“Well, I wanted to see what this tavern was like. I was looking for ideas.” Richard said.

“What? You starting a tavern?” Battleax started to get crazy eyes.

“No!” Richard held up his hands, “We are making bacon and eggs.”

“What!” Battleax shouted, “That’s you!” He laughed, “I’ve been meaning to get out there. Heard it’s the best breakfast around. You doing any barbeque?”

“No. Eggs, bacon, toast, BLT, coffee, and vanilla latte.” Richard said.

“BLT? Vanilla latte? I’ve never heard of those.” Battleax said.

“Dad!” Batty interrupted them as she sat down more ale, “We have to get vanilla lattes. I heard they are the best.”

Battleax waved his hand, “Sure, sure. We can go one morning.” He looked back at Richard, “Really, no barbecue? I remember your dad’s was the best.”

Caught off guard, Richard asked, “How do you know?”

“Well, we took turns cooking at night after the battle. The orcs made the best barbecue I’ve ever had. The only good thing about Wednesday was it was the orc’s turn to cook.”

“You ate dinner together,” Richard asked.

“Sure, just because we were at war didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends and eat and drink together. Hell, boy, when I gave your dad that scar, he made me a double helping of brisket.”

Before Richard could ask any more questions, a large plate of wings was sat down in the middle of the table. “You ready for round two, pup,” Battleax said with wild eyes.

“Hell yeah!” Richard shouted.

The ale flowed freely. The elven bard started to play an epic tune as the crowd in the tavern began to cheer the two on. Richard met wing for wing, the old barbarian. Plate after plate was devoured until the barbarian threw his hands up.

“I’m done!” He shouted. The crowd cheered. Battleax stood up and addressed the crowd, ”To my new nemesis Chief Richard, son of Chief Richard!” More cheering. Battleax held his hands up for silence, “I want everyone to try out Chief Richard’s new restaurant, uh,” He looked back at the orc, “What’s the name?”

Richard’s eyes went wide, “We haven’t named it yet.”

Battleax turned back to the crowd, “Try out the new unnamed restaurant on the edge of town! To Chief Richard!” The crowd chanted along. Richard waved. They were going to make stupid amounts of gold.

“Time for me to get back to work,” Battleax said to Richard, “I’ll be round to try that, uh, BLT and vanilla latte.” With a final wave, Battleax retreated back into the bustle of the kitchen.

Batty started to collect the dishes, “Need anything else, Chief?”

“No, what do I owe?” Richard asked.

“No, no. When you eat with Dad, you eat for free. Besides, you are his new nemesis. You’re family now!” Batty gave him a wink and a smile as she left.

Richard started to understand the stories his dad used to tell of the Orc Wars. He got up from his table to leave; he waved to Batty and Greg as he left the tavern. The daylight and fresh air felt good. His stomach not so much, but he enjoyed the food and his “battle.”

“Chief Richard,” Upon hearing his name, Richard turned around. A sense of comfort washed over him at the sight of Rose, Bob, and the imps. He was looking forward to the walk back to camp. He had learned so much, and they had much to discuss.