by Edward Brody
More blood poured from the goblin’s mouth, and again it started shaking like it was having a seizure. More piss poured down its leg.
“Another turn!” an orc yelled. “He scored another turn!”
I was getting bored of beating up on the helpless goblin, but I didn’t wait. I wound up my arm and slammed it hard against the side of its temple. This time, the goblin seemed lifeless.
I stepped back, and everyone’s eyes seemed glued to me. I glanced back and forth, unsure why.
“Aren’t you going to say it?” one of the orcs asked.
“Say what?”
“Rotten Goblin!” He pointed at the goblin. “Looks like you’ve got a win!”
“Oh yeah, Rotten Goblin!” I shouted.
“Check its pulse,” the bartender said.
The same orc who had checked the goblin before stepped forward, and after a few seconds of holding his finger to the goblin’s neck, he shook his head. “Still a light pulse. He’s alive.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh,” several people throughout the grog-post said in unison. Someone stomped their foot on the ground.
Northog clapped his hands. “My turn!” He rubbed his fist furiously, yelled, “For Ergoth!” and rushed in, landing a hard right hook to the side of the goblin’s jaw.
Again, there was a loud cracking noise, and this time, the goblin’s neck clearly broke as it jerked back. A bone was protruding strangely from the side of its throat, and its head rested limply in an awkward position to its side.
You have gained 1000 XP!
“Rotten Goblin!” Northog yelled, flicking his hand down and rubbing his knuckle as if he had hurt himself in the process.
The assisting orc stepped forward, checked the goblins pulse, and gave a slight nod. “We’ve got a Rotten Goblin.”
“Yeah!” the orcs in the grog-post cheered. A few turned and shook their heads in disappointment that Northog had won.
“See? I told you!” Northog spat. “We should play this more often, like the old days. No more of those stupid human games!”
“Calm down, Northog,” the bartender urged. “You won.”
Northog breathed heavily as he looked around. When he saw me, he marched closer and slammed his fist on his chest. “Well played.”
I glanced to the dead goblin hanging from the rope, and my stomach turned. “Well played.”
He stepped even closer, invading my space again as if he wanted to fight. “Don’t lie and say you were holding back.”
“I wasn’t,” I assured him.
His angry face seemed to soften, and he took a step back and smiled a bit. “I thought you may have had me when you got a triple. It’s not often you see a triple like that.”
I wanted to say, ‘it was luck’, and I had so many questions. How often did they play that game and how could they be so cruel? But I attempted to stay in character. Knowing how cocky and aggressive the orcs usually were, I said, “It’s been a while. Next time I’ll be more prepared.”
Northog laughed. “Fine. I will give you a rematch, if you want to lose again.”
“For Ergoth,” I said and slammed my fist into my chest.
Northog nodded. “For Ergoth. What is your name? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Um…” I struggled for a brief second, not anticipating the name question. “Gungrath,” I finally said, not really sure where I pulled the name from.
“Next time, Gungrath,” he said, and turned to walk away.
“Hey, wait!” I called to him.
He raised one of his eyebrows as he looked over his shoulder.
“An orc named Rithnar. Do you know him?”
He frowned, and his demeanor seemed to change back to that of anger. “I know the orc Rithnar.”
“Can you take me to him or show me where he lives?” I asked.
“He lives near me,” Northog said, “but why should I take you?”
“I have some information for him,” I said. I stepped forward invading his space like he had invaded mine. I leaned in close and spoke low. “The large fellow over there would’ve killed you had I not joined in on your game. Some gratitude would be appreciated.”
Northog frowned, as if the idea that I had helped him deeply hurt him somehow, but then he just grunted and nodded to me. “Fine, grunt. I will take you to Rithnar’s home.”
Boom, jackpot! I thought to myself and worked hard to hide my smile. It was disturbing as hell how I’d finally got a hot lead to Rithnar, but it was looking like I might actually be able to complete the quest and get back to the other responsibilities at home before the end of the day.
I was anxious to return to Edgewood, anxious to return to being human. After the mindless cruelty in the grog-post, the Wastelands was becoming a place I wanted to spend as little time as possible in, and I was beginning to question a few things that I had told my guild.
Unity? Not when it came to orcs. Every single one of them seemed like heartless, callous brutes.
Chapter Thirty-Four
2/21/0001
I followed Northog out of the grog-post and away from the small town where I had entered the Wastelands. He led me north, across the large, expansive valley of emptiness. There were no roads, no grass or foliage, and no notable landmarks, aside from the volcano in the distance pouring lava into a rift in the ground and random rocks here and there. It was just endless flat, dry dirt as far as I could see, even on the other side of the rift.
Orcs were spread out ahead of us randomly, walking in the same direction as us and others walking towards the rift, carrying large rucksacks over their shoulder. The only organized group I saw was a team of four orcs overseeing a large line of goblins who were all tugging another massive boulder towards the wooden contraption built into the side of the mountain. The boulder was just as massive as the last one I saw, and the goblins were pulling it at a snail’s pace. The orcs intermittently whipped the goblins, but the inflicted pain didn’t allow them to pull the heavy object any faster.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we continued.
“Morgsgorg,” Northog said. “The capital.” He glanced to me. “Do you need to return to Fort Destrog soon? Why were you stationed there? A builder or part of the next wave?”
“Um… I ugh…” I wasn’t expecting his line of questioning. “I was just searching for Rithnar.”
Northog creased his brow. “Did you not look in the capital first? Where are you from?”
I tried my best to stay composed as I struggled with an answer, but I quickly remembered that I was an orc, and an orc wouldn’t appreciate his line of questioning. I took a quick step toward him, showed my fangs, and placed a hand on my phony axe. “You ask too many questions! Lead me to Rithnar, so we can each go about our ways. I don’t want to see you again ‘til our next match in the grog-post.”
Northog straightened his shoulders and growled a bit like he was going to push back and cause a fight, but after a few seconds of a stare-down, he relaxed and chuckled. “I look forward to our rematch, grunt. Next time, we’ll find a tougher goblin, so it’s not over so quickly.”
I snarled and looked away, then threw in a, “For Ergoth,” for good measure.
“Ehhh… For Ergoth,” Northog said. He rattled his head and glanced over his shoulder as if checking that no one else was around. “Are you a loyal or is it just talk?”
I raised the corner of my lip and growled, making it clear I didn’t want to chat anymore. “Take me to Rithnar.”
Northog huffed, turned, and continued to lead the way.
There was very little to see during our fifteen-to-twenty-minute walk. The Wastelands were mostly desolate for as far as the eye could see, but every once in a while, we’d see patches of tents or wooden structures spaced amply apart. At one point, I noticed wood fencing in the distance, near a mountain with fort-like structures rising from the ground. It was clearly a town or city of some sort, but Northog just ignored it as we continued on. Still, it was interesting to know there were multip
le regions where orcs lived throughout the Wastelands.
The wind began picking up near the last leg of our journey, and Northog raised his arm to block dust and sunlight from his eyes when rows upon rows of teepee-like tents came into sight. There were hundreds of them, and running between the center of the tent cluster was a single, wide and straight, gravel-paved road.
“Morgsgorg,” Northog said.
As we got closer, I saw that the tents stretched for longer than the length of a football field, and the road running between them ended at a massive wooden fortress. It was just as big as the castle in Highcastle, and spiked wooden fencing surrounded it. Much like the fort that I had seen earlier, there was a large animal skull dangling above its entrance, only this one much bigger—perhaps that of a Great Beast or maybe even an ancient beast. Massive animal tusks or horns adorned the fortress on every side.
Right outside the fortress’ fence were various wooden buildings with less crudely made signs than the ones in Forth Destrog, and a single tall square stone tower stood a few hundred meters away with a massive hole torn into its side, exposing almost an entire floor to the elements. The stones of the tower were old, and the building looked on the verge of collapse at any time.
Beyond the well-crafted buildings began the sea of tents that flooded out all the way to the end of the road, all of them unguarded—though I’m not sure you’d need guards, considering all the citizen orcs walking around were equipped with axes, swords, maces or other deadly weapons.
Droves of orcs buzzed up and down the gravel road, only stepping off to duck between the unmarked sea of tents. A few goblins were running around freely, but some were being dragged around by leashes around their neck.
The whole place smelled of sweat and goblin’s piss. Combined with the layer of dust being kicked in the air by the throngs of heavy orc feet pounding the road, the whole place was unbearable.
We travelled halfway down before Northog hooked a left between the tents, and the further from the road I followed him, the less dust and less smell of urine attacked my nose.
The tents in Morgsgorg were built much better than the tents that the orcs and goblins had assembled in the Freelands or even Fort Destrog; they were bigger, more spacious, had thick ropes tied to their frames and anchored to the ground for more support. They were spaced far enough apart that they had room for seating in the front, and some had enough room around them for cages housing dogs, crates, and storage barrels.
Northog stopped in front of an inconspicuous tent, peeked his head inside, and turned around to me. “He’s not here, but this is where he lives.”
“That’s all I need to know,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Argh!” he grunted. “For Ergoth. I look forward to our rematch.” He smirked before turning to walk away.
“Me too!” I agreed, though that was a total lie. The sooner I could get out of the Wastelands, the better, and I’d likely never return unless I needed to. Not that it mattered if I did. ‘Gungrath’ didn’t really exist.
Northog marched back to the main road, and I stood awkwardly in front of Rithnar’s home for some time. I looked around, and noticed further down the tent row, an orc sat idly in front of his house with a large piece of leather lying on the ground, weapons and armor sitting on top. A similar scene could be seen further off in another row, only the other orc was selling food, potions, and a variety of smaller items. I guessed it was the Wastelands version of yard sales, but without any money and fear of blowing my cover, I decided not to have a look at any of their offerings.
After a while of standing in place, I grabbed a loose tree stump that was resting near the side of Rithnar’s home and placed it right in front of his entrance. There, I continued to wait.
Minutes turned to an hour or more, and the sunlight in the sky started to fade. I was about to get up and try to gather information elsewhere; maybe Northog had misled me for some reason. But no sooner had I the inclination to leave than an orc stomped right up to Rithnar’s home. He looked like any other orc, with a mismatch of fur and leather armor, but his hair had been shaved everywhere except for the top. The long, unshaved portion growing from the topmost portion of his head was tightly pulled together with leather bands and fell all the way to his lower back. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes looked heavy with worry.
When the approaching orc caught sight of me, he paused in a moment of confusion before marching towards me with fury in his eyes. “What are you doing here?!” he snapped.
“I’m looking for Rithnar,” I said.
“What do you want with Rithnar?” he asked, wrinkling his brow.
“I need to speak with him,” I explained, standing from the stump. “I have some important information for him.”
The orc stepped close to me and tilted his head and darted his eyes as if inspecting every inch of me. “I am Rithnar. Speak quickly.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and would’ve smiled if it weren’t for the orc’s intimidating nature. “Okay, well…” I began, but Rithnar suddenly pulled his eyes from me and started for the inside of his house.
“Come in if you wish,” he said, slumping his shoulders again. “My legs are tired. I need to have a seat.”
I followed Rithnar into his home—the insides of which consisted of a large bed of twigs and hay, a chest, a weapon rack, and a rudimentary table surrounded by stones.
He sat on one of the stones and lowered his eyes to the floor. “Speak.”
“Your child...” I began.
Rithnar’s head jerked up, and he quickly rose back to his feet. “What of my child?! Where is he?! I’ve been searching for my him and my wife all day!”
“I met your wife in the Freelands and—”
“You what?!” Rithnar roared. He strode forward, getting so close to me that his rancid breath stung my nostrils. “Where is she? What have you done?!”
“I did nothing,” I said, holding up my hands defensively and almost breaking character. “But um…”
He grabbed my cloth garb and jerked me towards him. “Where is she?!”
“Please, calm down,” I said. I growled and showed my teeth, trying to remember to act as orcish as possible.
“Speak!” he yelled, jolting me hard. “Is she okay?! Has my child been harmed?!”
“Your child is fine,” I said, “but I’m afraid your wife has passed.”
“What?!” Rithnar roared, jerking me again. “What did you do to her?!”
I growled once more, grabbed his arm, and tried to pull myself away. “Listen to me! I had nothing to do with it!” That was, of course, another lie.
“Where is my child?! Tell me now!” he shouted.
“I found him and his mother in the Freelands. Now he’s waiting near there—near the Freelands.”
“What?!”
“He’s safe,” I assured him. “I came to you because your wife wanted me to return him to you.”
“I… I don’t understand,” Rithnar rumbled.
“I was in the Freelands and—"
Rithnar suddenly shoved me, causing me to fall to the ground. “You come from the Freelands? How? No orcs have been recalled from battle yet. You lie!”
I held my hand up defensively as I tried pushing myself back up with the other. “No! Just listen to me!”
“Where is my wife?!” Rithnar boomed, storming towards me again. He grabbed my arm by the wrist and yanked me back up. His green face was turning a tinge of red. “Where is she?!”
I wasn’t sure whether to resist him like an orc might or stay calm and try to talk some sense into him. “Listen to me!” I said harshly. “Your wife was killed, but I can arrange for your child to be returned to you.”
“Liar!” Rithnar roared. He grabbed me by the throat and started squeezing with both hands. He shook me. “Tell me where you’ve taken her, now!”
My head filled with pressure. I clawed at his hands trying to release his grip, but he was too strong. He half threw me, half pushed me
against the rocks sitting by his table, causing my back to make a cracking noise when I landed. I bucked, and before I could get back to an upright position, he was already on top of me, grabbing the collar of my clothes, yanking me up.
“Your child is fine!” I yelled, in protest. “Your child is fine! Your wife has—”
Rithnar punched me firmly in the face, shutting me up, then turned me around and wrapped his arm around my neck, squeezing me as tightly as he could. “Tell me the truth if you wish to live,” he said sinisterly. “Why are you here, and where is my wife?”
I immediately started to panic as my breath bar appeared. He was squeezing me so hard that I couldn’t get a full gulp of air, much less explain anything to him.
I had been in this predicament once before, when trying to rescue Trynzen from Highcastle prison, and there was very little that one could do in that kind of situation. He was strong… far too strong for me to pull myself out of his grip.
“Guh… guh…” was all I managed to get out.
I glanced to my health bar, and I was at 80% after the damage he had done to me, and it was quickly becoming clear that I had made a mistake. The orcs—with their blood grog and Rotten Goblin games really were savages, and I probably should’ve just killed the orc baby like some of the others had advised me to do. And Rithnar in particular was the most unreasonable of them all. He was going to kill me when I was just trying to help.
I jerked and squirmed, as the amount of breath I had left slipped down to almost nothing. My goal suddenly switched from telling Rithnar where his child was and getting a quest reward to simply getting away from him without dying.
I kicked back at Rithnar’s shin, but Rithnar was agile enough to avoid it, and when I tried to throw elbows back into his body, none of them landed with the impact I had intended.
“Tell me or you die here and now,” he reiterated.
With no one there but Rithnar and me unable to speak or connect with any physical blows, that left me with only one option—magic. It wasn’t a good option as I knew it would likely hurt me, but I was completely out of options.