Through the Eyes of Others: An Orc Quest

Or The Dark Lord Fell and Now I'm Unemployed?!

It is, as the men reckon things, the year 6 of the Free Age of the World. As you reckon things, it's been ten years since the world basically collapsed on itself in ruin and terror. Things were hard before that and they are even harder now.

You are Vrugash, an orc woman.

You aren't terribly large--you make it just over five feet when you actually straighten up and most of the time you slouch and stoop just because it's easier. Pitch black hair, though you keep the sides of your head shaved and the rest of your hair tugged back into a long braid that trails down your back. Your eyes are bright and yellow and your skin is a dusty red-brown color, almost like the clay of a river-bank. Sharp teeth and a flat, nose with small nostrils complete your look along with a series of dark blue-black ink dots that run along your high cheekbones to your temples. They were given to you as a girl, and you can remember your mother's voice when she gave them to you, telling you not to squirm and that it didn't hurt that much so quit whining. Your arms are rather lanky and wiry, longer than a human of your height might be, and your toes have sharp claws.

You're in your early-twenties. You think. Counting hasn't been one of your strong points basically ever and you were past adolescence when the Dark Lord fell and the world changed. Perhaps it has been half your life since then. Maybe a little less. You were a mere pit-slave of a sort then, resigned to fetch and carry and haul along with the others still too young to fight and you were supposed to be learning a trade under a foul-mouthed, squint-eyed goblin by the name of Grizza. What that meant was mostly working the bellows on his forge, hauling raw materials, and him beating you when your attempts at metal work turned out no good--though you had mastered at the least the making of crude swords and spearheads when everything went to shit.

Shit was really the right word for it. It had happened all at once, too. There had been rumors that the Master had the men, in a tight spot and it was finally going to be a victory, finally an end to the age of Men and the cruel, hated rule that they exerted on the world. There had been a tiny little army that needed to be crushed--and then the tower had fallen, the Dark Fortress shaking itself to pieces as the Master and His power were destroyed.
They said it was little folk that did it but you're not sure you believe that.

You survived the following lean years by being hard, as any orc has to be. You hunted, you fought, you killed, you stole. You even tried your hand at growing crops in the semi-fertile lands to the south of the blasted volcanic wasteland where you had made your home before all the awfulness happened. You lived in a small community of Men and orcs that once been slaves of the Master like you. You had done well there, for a time, tilling the soil and making plows instead of swords. Then other orcs came and stole everything you had grown, burned the houses, and forced you to flee or be enslaved by them like the others.

You bear no trust nor love for any other orc except perhaps your sister and your mother, who have both been lost to you since the chaos and confusion following the fall of the Master. With your little community scattered to the winds, you fled to the west alone and crossed the mountains, settling by yourself in a small hovel you've scratched for yourself on the slopes of the Shadow's Gate mountains, the hinterlands in the east of kingdom of Men. It is dangerous here, not least because the Men still keep watch for your kind. It's easier to live here though--there's fishing to be had, hunting, and you can keep a small garden if you wish. You think you prefer the solitude, honestly. Other orcs would just try to fuck with you, right? Of course they fucking would. Better to just take care of yourself and not have to deal with that crap unless you have to.

You know there are others in the mountains near your homes, living in their mountain holes and doing the same thing you are--surviving. You keep out of their way, though. Some idiot might get it in his head that you'd make a good mate and you're not in the mood to be having whelps any time soon.

You wonder what happened to your mother and your sister sometimes when you let yourself think. You don't think much because then you start remembering your time serving the Dark Lord and the pain of it, the ache that still sits in your bones that you're not sure of the origin of. You remember the way His will seemed to push down on all of His servants. You remember the beatings and the lashings that stripped flesh from your back and left you scarred. So you do your best NOT to remember. Instead you focus on the work of surviving, leaving your home usually by night. The daylight hurts your eyes and gives you a headache and it's easier to hunt by dusk or dawn twilight when you can still see but it's not quite full dark. Tonight is one of those nights, late spring, and you can hear the sound of crickets and frogs starting up their evening song and still see the faintest streaks of the sun in the western sky.

It's going to be a quiet night, you're pretty sure. You're (as far as you know) a long way from human settlements and you've nothing planned except to check the traps you keep for fish and crawdads down at the small stream that burbles a mile or so off from your home. Besides that, you need water. Fishing pole on your shoulder, basket in hand, and a small cask for water slung you head down into the gathering dark. This isn't a bad life, truly. It's quiet--no one gives your orders or beats you and you get to do what you like.

You follow the path you've trodden many times in the few months you've lived here, listening to the sounds of the gathering night. There are fireflies beginning to dance along the bank of the river and it's a pleasing sight. As you reach the edge of the river, you pause to catch your breath, then stoop first to fill the water cask. That done, you sling it again and move along the edge of the stream, pausing occasionally as you reach a spot or another where your traps are waiting. Not much of a catch tonight and when you've traveled downstream a ways, you've only a few small fish in your basket--barely enough for a good meal! So you find a spot and settle down to bait your fishing pole, grumbling to yourself in a half-hearted way.

It's full night by now and as you settle in for a lazy night of fishing everything seems right in the world. Perhaps an hour passes in this way, your pole stuck into a fork of wood in the river bank as you casually whittle a stick and occasionally re-cast the bait. Then, something catches your ears, a sound drifting from across the stream. It sounds like yelling and faintly, you hear the clash of what might be swords. Something's afoot--what should you do?

[ ] Cross the stream immediately and get closer. You should see what's going on!
[ ] Hurry back to your home and get your old war gear before investigating. Sounds like the night for it.
[ ] Stay where you are. This isn't YOUR business and getting your nose stuck into someone else's nonsense is a bad plan. Besides you still need to catch some more fish.

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A/N:

Welcome to Orc Quest! The writing bug has bitten me. Hi, I'm Mila and you may remember me from such quests as A Catgirl's Last Chance for High School Romance! This is going to be a quest of fantasy shenanigans, though magic will be fairly rare. Mostly, I was inspired to write this by wondering 'what happens to all the evil legions when the dark lord loses?' So it's a little post-apoctalyptic in flavor in some ways as well. Please enjoy and if you have any questions, please post them here! The setting is very much inspired by Lord of the Rings.

A picture commissioned awhile back of Vru (the smaller one on the right) and her older sister. Enjoy~.



Please do not repost or reuse.

[ ] Hurry back to your home and get your old war gear before investigating. Sounds like the night for it.

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You gauge the time it will take you to scramble back up the hill to your little home and decide it's worth it if there's trouble. At the moment, you only have a simple belt knife and that's practically useless in a real fight. You pick up your pole and basket (the water cask can wait until later) and set off at a steady loping run that carries you up the hill. You arrive panting and a little out of breath--you haven't done srious running recently and it's all uphill as well…

Taking the barest moment to catch your breath, you struggle into your armor, a simple coat of plates riveted between two layers of felted cloth, now much faded along with a swordbelt on which sits a heavy, broad-bladed sword more like a machete than a sword, but it's served it's purpose through enough trouble to be a reliable weapon. Your bow is hanging away from the wall and floor to keep the damp away. It's a short, recurved sort. These days it's mostly used for game. Your belt knife, of course. Finally a quiver of black arrows--they're precious things, since making more would be difficult. You have to be careful to recover them whenever possible, though a few are lost over time to damage.

Okay. You're equipped. You hurry back down the hill. A human trying to take this at a run would probably break an ankle or something, but you know the hill well enough and can see well enough in the late spring night that it's no bother to you. At the base of your hill you splash across the shallow part of the stream and up the opposite bank and then pause there in a small thicket of trees, listening. The shouting is still going on, though the clash of swords seems fainter, more distant perhaps. You move further, careful to keep quiet as you scramble through tall grass. That the fighting still seems to be going after your scramble up and down the hill is testament to the defender's tenacity. Or perhaps the attackers just aren't competent.

As you move further you can hear the sounds fighting begin to fade away, but you still have an idea of where the fighting was. As the relative silence of the evening settles again with the cool blanket of night you can make out nothing else for a moment, even with your keen ears. Then there's something else--running feet coming down the bare little nothing of a deer path that you're following towards what must be the combat. You scramble back to try and hide yourself but before you can get completely off the trail the source of the footsteps appears, all pale skin and flowing hair--a human child. Maybe a little younger than you were when the Master fell. You think. It's hard to tell with them. She's running barefoot and looking back over her shoulder so that when she does look forward, she doesn't have much time to notice you!

When she does spot you her eyes go wide in the dark and she gasps, starting to scramble to a stop that doesn't quite happen until she's almost on top of you. She scrambles to a stop, her simple dress wafting with her motion and she stares at you with horrified eyes. Behind her, up the trail, you can hear the sound of more feet. Probably whoever is pursuing the girl. If you're going to act, you need to act now.


[ ] Grab her and dive into the tall grass or thicket off the side of the deer path to hide.
[ ] Let her go past you.
[ ] Wait for her pursuers to show up, then decide what to do next.
[ ] Other. Specify in vote.