The orc encampment unfolded before me, not meeting my expectations of a metal civilization, instead what I got was a mix of native American and Mongol aesthetics, a surprising mix of rugged practicality and a hint of lingering trauma.
Roughly constructed circular huts, their frames made of thick branches and animal hides, formed a wide circle around a massive central bonfire. Smoke curled into the sky, carrying the mingling scents of roasting meat, leather, and earthy herbs. Green- and brown-colored children darted between the structures, their laughter a rare thread of lightness in an otherwise tense atmosphere.
My eyes darted across the scene, cataloging every detail. This wasn’t a haphazard gathering; it was a village built by people with purpose. Orcs sharpened weapons, tended to crops struggling for sunlight beneath the forest’s dense canopy, some worked on armor in a forge that glowed red in the distance.
Despite their industriousness, every orc carried themselves with a guarded demeanor, as though the weight of their history pressed heavily on their shoulders.. They carried their weapons like extensions of their bodies, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
“This is our home,” Grok’an said gruffly, his massive frame leading me through the village’s main pathway. His deep voice held both pride and caution. “Respect it, or you won’t leave alive.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, I love the organization your people have” I replied, keeping my hands visible and my tone jovial. The gut feeling that had driven me this far hadn’t diminished. If anything, it grew stronger the closer I got to the heart of the camp.
As we moved deeper into the village, heads turned, and conversations hushed. The stares were piercing, some filled with suspicion, others with outright hostility. Orcs of all ages stopped what they were doing to watch me. A group of children peeked out from behind a hut, their wide eyes filled with curiosity. I made a silly face at them. They ducked back, giggling.
Grok’an glanced at me over his shoulder. “Don’t mind them. Outsiders are rare here, and trust even rarer.”
“I noticed. Children are the treasure of every people” I said, my voice melancholic. “I’m guessing the welcome wagon isn’t coming?”, shifting back to my jovial tone
He snorted, the closest thing to a laugh I’d heard from him. “You’ll earn your place—or you won’t. Simple as that.”
“Earn my place?” I asked incredulously, he just ignored me and continued walking.
We reached the largest hut in the village, its entrance flanked by two guards with polished axes. Grok‘an gestured for me to wait as he ducked inside. Moments later, an elderly orc emerged, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff decorated with feathers, beads, and small bones. His yellowed tusks jutted over a beard streaked with gray, and his sharp eyes scanned me with the intensity of a hawk.
“Grok’an,” he said, his voice like gravel, “What is this? Why bring a human to our home?” there was a certain sharpness in his voice, when he described my race.
“He claims he’s no threat, Elder Durzh,” Grok’an replied, his tone even. “But we’ll see.”
Durzh’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re either a spy or a fool. Perhaps both.”
“Or a traveler,” I said, meeting his gaze. My voice was steady, a sense of abnormal calm coming over me. “I woke up deep in the forest, and decided to explore this new magical place. I’m here because your leader decided not to skewer me on sight. So, thanks for that Grok’an.”
A few orcs nearby chuckled, their laughter low and gruff. Durzh, however, remained unimpressed. “Words mean little here, traveler, especially those of a human.” The elder hissed the last part.
“Enough, Elder,” Grok’an said, raising a hand. “The tribe will decide his fate. For now, he’ll help us with a task. If he succeeds, we’ll consider his intentions true.”
I nodded, sensing this was what my gut feeling was leading me to. “Fair enough. What do you need?”
Grok’an led me to a smaller hut on the outskirts of the camp. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of herbs and sweat. A young orc warrior lay on a makeshift bed, his leg swollen and discolored. He groaned in pain, his breaths shallow and labored.
“This is Tor’uk, one of our best hunters,” Grokan said. “He was bitten by a venomous snake while tracking game. Our shaman has done what he can, but the venom lingers.”
I crouched beside the injured orc, my EMT instincts kicking in. The swelling and redness around the bite were severe, and faint red streaks climbed up his leg a sign the venom was spreading. His pulse was weak but steady. The shaman’s efforts had likely kept him alive, but he wasn’t out of danger yet.
“How long has he been like this?” I asked.
“Two days,” Grok’an replied. His voice carried a weight of concern that surprised me.
I frowned, thinking through my options. On Earth, this would have been a straightforward case: antivenom, fluids, and a very fast ambulance ride. Here, I had none of those things. But I did have something else, something better. Maybe.
“I can try something,” I said, glancing at Grok’an. “It’s... unconventional, but it might help.”
He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Do it. If you fail, you die.” He said in a grim tone.
“No pressure,” I muttered. As I knelt beside Tor’uk, preparing to channel my energy into his wound, the air in the hut seemed to shift. A shadow moved near the doorway, and I glanced up to see a wiry orc woman watching me, her sharp eyes filled with skepticism. She held a gnarled staff adorned with small bones and feathers, much like Elder Durzh’s.
“That’s Shorga, our shaman,” Grok’an said, noticing my gaze. “She did all she could, but the venom resists our remedies.”
Her lips thinned at his words, and she stepped closer, her staff tapping the ground with a soft thud. “You claim to have power to heal, human?” she asked, her voice low and cutting. “We shall see if it is power or parlor tricks.”
I met her gaze steadily, trying to keep my tone respectful. “I’m no shaman, but I’ll do what I can. If it helps, that’s all that matters.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to peer through my very soul. “All that matters... is whether your power comes from a place of honor. The ancestors will judge.
Placing my hands over the wound and willing the energy within me to flow into the hunters injured leg. At first, it resisted entering, it was like trying to thread a needle, with a frayed string, and a tiny needle hole, I must have looked weird with my tongue sticking out. But then I felt it—a connection,”Booyah!” I cheered, startling the orcs behind me. The connection feeling thin but tangible. The energy began to flow, warm and steady, into Tor’uk’s leg.
He groaned, his body tensing as the energy worked through him. I focused harder, imagining my flow of energy as a container, gathering all the venom, and dragging it back out through the wound. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the energy pulsed between us, its rhythm matching the faint glow of my hands.
When I finally pulled back, clear yellowish liquid started pouring out of the wound, the swelling had reduced, and Toruk’s breathing was deeper, less strained. He opened his eyes briefly, murmuring something in Orcish before slipping back into sleep.
“It’s not perfect, some particles escaped me, unfortunately” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow. “But it’s a start. He’ll need rest, water, and maybe more of whatever your shaman was using.”
“Strange magic,” the shaman muttered, her tone unreadable. “It does not belong to these lands.”
Grok’an stared at me, his expression unreadable. “You wield strange magic, traveler. His mother will worry less. Your deed will be spoken of at the fire tonight.”
That evening, the village gathered around the central bonfire. The flames roared high, casting flickering shadows across the gathered orcs. The smell of roasting meat and woodsmoke filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation.
I sat near Grok'an, feeling the weight of every stare. Some were curious, others, suspicious. A few, like Elder Durzh, still looked like they’d rather see me tied to a post than sitting at their fire.
Durzh stood, tapping his staff against the ground for silence. “The traveler has shown skill,” he announced, his voice carrying easily over the crackling flames. “But such gifts are not always blessings. What say you, Grok’an?”
Grok’an rose to his feet, his massive shadow stretching across the firelight. “He saved Tor’uk when our shaman could not. That is proof enough for now. But trust is earned, not given. The traveler can stay and continue to prove his worth.”
The crowd murmured, some nodding in agreement, others less convinced. I nodded, accepting the terms. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
As the fire burned lower, Grok’an leaned toward me. “You’ve impressed some of us, traveler. But others will take more convincing. Keep your wits about you. And now that you showed your worth, I will have you tell me your name”
“Name? This is a new life for me after all, I will need a new name. I will think about it, for now continue addressing my as traveler” I said, contemplating the events that lead me here.
“You truly are a weird Human. Fine I will continue calling you traveler” the orc said while giving me weird looks. “ for now you sleep next to the fire, there are none here that would open their home to you yet.”
I nodded in understanding, I didn’t mind, I wanted to see this worlds night sky. The orc looked surprised at my reaction. But before he stood up to leave, I asked” can I have some water to clean myself?” the orc chuckled, sound like grinding stones, he pointed me towards a nearby well and left me to my own devices.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
I stood and walked to the well, it was a small thing, simply a hole dug into the ground with a makeshift wood barrier, and a simple rope and pully system.
I retrieved a bucket of water, and looked for a discreet location. After a brief scan of the area, I found a location outside the village that was decently concealed behind, leaved tree branches.
Behind the cover of the leaves, I stripped and quietly got cleaned. I found that I didn’t really sweat as much anymore, nor did I feel the need to use the toilet.
Could it be the energy flowing through me? Could it be enhancing me somehow? This gave me and idea. I focused on coating my entire body with the flow of energy, and imagining it removing any impurities from my skin.
A slow glow emanated from my skin—a feeling of being coated in a cold but comfortable slime, I let the process continue for a minute and directed all my energy back inside. Feeling like I just stepped out of a hot shower, I looked at my arms finding them red, as I they’ve been scrubbed clean.
Before donning my clothes, I retried the same process with them, focusing energy to flow, and coat each item, I willed they be purified, a dim golden hue emanated from them, as a steam like smoke rose from each item.
I stopped the process, and picked up the shirt, finding it warm to the touch, it smelt like nothing. The pants underwear and shoes were the same. My clothing looked brand new.
I donned my clothing, and walked out of the cover of leaves carrying the unused bucket of water with me, Finding a small group of guards, with a slow-growing crowd of residents behind them The guards with spears and bows aimed towards one dumbass. All giving me suspicious looks.
Gork’an leading them. He gave me a sharp glare “Traveler!” Grok’an’s voice thundered, silencing the growing murmur of the crowd. He approached me, flanked by several guards. “What were you doing behind those leaves?”
I held up the still-full bucket of water I’d retrieved earlier. “Getting cleaned up. Turns out, I didn’t need the water.”
The gathered orcs exchanged glances, their suspicion evident. Grok’an crossed his arms. “And why wouldn’t you need it?”
I hesitated, realizing how strange my explanation would sound. “I’ve been experimenting with my... abilities,” I said carefully. “I can clean myself—and apparently, my clothes—using energy. It’s... efficient.”
Grok’an raised an eyebrow. “Show us.”
Elder Durzh stepped forward, his glare sharp and unyielding. “Yes, human. If your strange tricks are real, prove them. Choose someone.”
Looking around, I searched for a volunteer. My eyes landed on a burly guard standing off to the side. His armor was caked with grime, his clothing torn and discolored, and his tusks were stained with something I didn’t dare identify. His green skin was streaked with patches of dried mud and sweat, and the smell... well, let’s just say it reached me before I even got close.
I pointed to him, keeping my tone polite. “May I?”
The guard stepped forward hesitantly, looking to Grok’an for approval. The orc leader nodded. “Go on, Po’ukt’ah. Let the traveler try his magic.”
Po’ukt’ah grumbled something under his breath but stepped closer. “Do what you must, traveler,” he said, his voice gruff but curious.
“Alright, just stand still,” I said, raising my hands. “And don’t worry—this won’t hurt. Probably.”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd as I focused on the energy flowing within me. Slowly, I willed it outward, envisioning it coating Po’ukt’ah like a gentle wave. A soft golden glow spread over him, and I could feel the grime and filth lifting away, layer by stubborn layer.
As the glow faded, the transformation was stunning. His armor gleamed like polished silver, the leather straps supple and dark. His green skin was vibrant and smooth, free of dirt and sweat. Even his tusks were white and clean, as if freshly polished.
The crowd gasped, their surprise palpable. Po’ukt’ah looked down at himself, his eyes wide with disbelief. He touched his armor tentatively, then his tusks, as if not recognizing his own reflection.
“I... I haven’t been this clean since...” His voice trailed off, his expression shifting to something I couldn’t quite place—part wonder, part sadness.
One of the other guards clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. “Since the wizards made us scrub ourselves raw! You look like a new orc, Po’ukt’ah!”
The laughter spread, but it had an edge of bitterness. I glanced at Grok’an, who met my gaze with a solemn expression.
“You don’t know this,” he said quietly, “but cleanliness was once a tool of control. The wizards demanded we present ourselves as spotless, as if even our filth offended them. Po’ukt’ah’s state wasn’t just laziness—it was his way of rejecting their chains.”
My stomach twisted. What I’d seen as a simple gesture of goodwill had touched something far deeper than I’d understood. “I didn’t mean—” I started, but Grok’an waved me off.
“You meant no harm,” he said firmly. “And perhaps it is time for us to reclaim what was taken, in our own way. You’ve given Po’ukt’ah his pride back. For that, you’ve earned some respect.”
Po’ukt’ah’s expression softened as he met my gaze. “Thank you, traveler,” he said quietly. “This is... strange, but it feels right.”
A wave of relief washed over me. “Glad I could help,” I said, keeping my tone light. “If anyone else wants a shine-up, just let me know. Though fair warning—it does drain my energy, and Po’ukt’ah here took quite a bit.”
The laughter returned, warmer this time, and even Grok’an allowed a faint smile. Elder Durzh, however, remained silent, his sharp eyes fixed on me.
Amid the celebration, I caught Shorga’s eyes, narrowed and calculating. She was lingering at the edge of the gathering, her staff clutched tightly as if to ground herself.
“You play with forces you do not understand,” she said, her voice low enough for only me to hear as I stepped away from Po’ukt’ah. “Power does not exist without cost. Remember that human.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she had already turned and disappeared into the crowd, her warning lingering like smoke in the air.
As the crowd began to disperse, Grok’an clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re strange, traveler, but perhaps there is value in your strangeness. Rest now. Tomorrow will bring more to prove.”
I laid down, and watched this new star scape. This world seemed to have a single moon and a sky teeming with vibrant, colorful stars, far brighter and more plentiful than I had ever seen., I mused that this planet must have been nearer to their galactic core, as I drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
The next day, Grok’an brought me to the tribe’s forge, a crude but functional setup built into a hollowed-out tree trunk. The bellows sagged, its wooden frame cracked, and the stone bed that supported the coals was uneven, leading to poorly distributed heat. Every piece of equipment carried scars from overuse and hasty repairs.
“It was made with what we had,” Grok’an admitted, his tone matter-of-fact. “But without it, we’ll struggle to arm our warriors.”
I crouched beside the forge, running my hand along the cracked bellows. “You’ve done well with the materials you have,” I said, noting how resourceful the tribe was. “But I think we can make it better. Let’s start with heat distribution.”
Grok’an crossed his arms, skeptical. “And what does a human know about forging?”
“Not much about forging,” I admitted, “but I know a bit about heat, airflow, and construction. Trust me on this.”
I started by examining the stone bed beneath the coals. The uneven surface caused the heat to concentrate in one area while leaving the edges cold. “If we can flatten this bed and add a layer of sand or clay underneath the stones, it’ll help hold and spread the heat evenly,” I explained, gesturing to the materials around us, silently thanking all the time spent on YouTube during pre-war down time at the station.
Grok’an grunted but nodded. He ordered a few orcs to bring clay and sand from the riverbank. Using makeshift tools, we scraped the stone bed flat and laid down a thin layer of sand. On top of that, we added a mixture of clay and crushed stone to create an insulating layer. It wasn’t perfect, but it would improve heat retention and distribution.
Next, I turned my attention to the bellows. The wooden frame was warped and loose, causing a weak airflow. “The bellows need more pressure,” I said. “If we tighten the bindings and reinforce the frame, the airflow will be stronger, and you’ll get higher temperatures.”
Using some spare leather strips and strong vine cords, we tightened the bellows’ bindings and secured the frame with additional wooden supports. Testing it, I could feel the stronger gust of air as the bellows pumped.
Finally, I suggest a minor innovation. “If you add a small vent at the back of the forge and line it with clay, it’ll help release smoke and keep the coals burning hotter,” I explained. “The air will flow in through the bellows and out through the vent, creating a draft.”
The orcs were hesitant at first, but Grok‘an allowed it. With their help, we carved a small opening at the back of the forge and lined it with clay to prevent it from collapsing under the heat.
Once everything was in place, we tested the forge. As the flames roared to life, the orcs watched in awe. The heat was more even, the coals burned brighter, and the bellows pumped with a steady rhythm. The first blade forged in the new setup came out stronger and more polished than before.
Grok’an inspected the blade, his massive hands turning it over carefully. “This is... better,” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of approval. “You have strange ideas, traveler, but they work.”
“It’s not about the weapons,” I said, glancing at the gathered orcs. “It’s about making the tools you need to survive. Stronger tools mean better repairs, better equipment for farming, and better defenses—not just better weapons.”
Grok’an’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though weighing my words. “You’re a strange one, human. But perhaps there’s wisdom in your strangeness.”
The next day Grok’an invited me to join a hunting party. I wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of trust or a test, but I accepted. We ventured deep into the forest, tracking a herd of elk-like creatures with antlers as long as my arm.
Using my enhanced strength, I helped haul back the kill, impressing even the skeptical Elder Durzh. I glowed faintly throughout, the energy within me surging through me when I strained against the weight.
Later that night, as I lay by the central fire, the warmth of the flames keeping the evening chill at bay, my mind kept drifting back to the days events. The stars above were unlike anything I’d seen on Earth—vivid, colorful, and impossibly dense, as though this world was closer to the heart of the galaxy. But even their breathtaking beauty couldn’t hold my attention for long.
I kept thinking about Po’ukt’ah.
When Grok’an had explained the significance of what I’d done, it had hit me like a slap to the face. To me, cleaning Po’ukt’ah was a simple task—a mix of experimentation and a desire to lighten the mood. I hadn’t understood that his grime wasn’t just dirt. It was a rejection of a past where he and his people were stripped of dignity, where even their filth was seen as something to be controlled. My attempt to help had brushed up against something far deeper than I could have imagined.
And yet, the way Po’ukt’ah looked at me after—like I’d given him something back—filled me with a strange mix of pride and humility. I didn’t know these people, not really. Their history, their struggles, their victories—I was still just scratching the surface. But for the first time since I’d arrived in this strange world, I felt like I’d done something that mattered.
The laughter of the crowd as they teased Po’ukt’ah still echoed in my mind. It had started as humor, but it had transformed into something more—a lightness, a shared joy that felt rare in this tense, guarded village. Even Grok’an’s faint smile had felt like a small victory.
Lying there under the alien stars, I realized how much my perspective was starting to shift. When I first arrived, I thought my task was about solving problems—helping fix things, maybe even changing the world. But maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe it was about these small moments, the ones that made people laugh, or think, or remember a part of themselves they’d buried.
I stared into the fire, the golden embers swirling like tiny stars. “You don’t have to change the whole world,” I murmured to myself. “Sometimes, just cleaning a little corner is enough for a good start.”
The thought made me smile. The orcs weren’t just a challenge or an obstacle—they were people, like the ones I’d worked with back home. Their resilience, their humor, their unspoken pain—they were becoming familiar, almost comforting.
The gut feeling that had driven me here hadn’t faded, but it no longer felt like pressure. Instead, it felt like a nudge—a quiet encouragement to keep going, to keep helping, even in the smallest ways. And for the first time, I wasn’t thinking about the life I’d left behind. I was thinking about the one I was starting to build.
Not everyone was pleased, however. Durzh’s distrust hung over me like a storm cloud, and the tribe’s shaman, a wiry orc named Shorga, watched me with open suspicion. “Your power is not ours,” she said that evening, her voice low and accusing. “It does not come from the ancestors.”
“It doesn’t have to. Your people have your ways, and I have mine,” I replied, keeping my tone respectful but firm."
” I replied, meeting her gaze. “what matters is what we choose to do with it, if you ever want to know how I treated your young warrior feel free to ask, I will be happy to share my knowledge, little as it may be.”
Shorga scowled but said nothing, retreating into the shadows of her hut.
Despite the tension, I began to feel a connection to the tribe. Their resilience, their resourcefulness—it reminded me of the people I’d worked with back home during and before the war. These weren’t monsters or savages. They were survivors, trying to carve a place out in the world.
Still, the feeling in my gut hadn’t left. It was the same one that had driven me here, and it whispered that my work with the orcs was far from over.