No, Not All Orcs are the Same

In the cosmic scale of the Astral Plane, Glynn's World was minuscule by comparison, a land no larger than the size of Ireland. Even so, it was still a slog to walk across.

As the two travelers made their way across the rolling hills of Elgyn within Dreams Proper, approaching the central mountain, the dwarf began to lose stamina. The orc, Mars Shagga, faced no issues traversing this muddy terrain with his long, vascular legs. Dige struggled every step of the way, digging deep into the thick brown sludge. He figured the orc would wait up for him at some point, but he didn’t. His stride never slowed for a second, so the dwarf had to keep up. They were friends, right?

“We’re not friends,” the orc said. “Stop asking me.”

“But we have so much in common. We’re both masculine, tough, dependable."

Mars drank from his stolen canteen. “I don’t have friends.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

His words stung, but Dige ignored them. His stubbornness would not be bested. He kept pace until nightfall, when the cloudy skies blocked the moon and visibility became limited. Then Dige realized that orcs had night vision too, so the walking continued, utilizing extra reserves. All of that built-up ale energy moved into Dige's legs and heart. What a waste.

Dige could imagine Mars as some sort of sheep herder, one that could get the flock moving for days on end without resting, a powerful, strong hunter and tracker. At the same time, Dige accepted that he was a more stationary man. Strong and unmoving, like stone. That’s Dige. Still, walking wouldn't hold him back. This stone was moving. After 24 hours of trekking, the orc looked back, and the dwarf was still there, a full 50 kilometers later. With a weary sigh, Mars found a rock at a local crossroads and took a well-needed rest. Dige watched him like a lost puppy.

“Do ye need any food?” Dige asked.

“No.”

“Okay.” 

The dwarf fell face-first into the dirt.

The night passed in a flash. No dreams, no thinking, only a brief moment of black and a heavy set of fatigue. The next thing Dige remembered was the blaring sunlight and the tight constriction around his chest. There was also an intense amount of sniffing. It sounded porky.

“Awake! Awake they are!” shouted the orc with a dance. “Chief, praise me!”

The Dwarf was bound in rope, which was surprising, as he hadn’t felt a thing. He must’ve been that tired. His thick head swiveled around, searching for his partner. He was helpless against the thirty orcs that skampered around them, as well as the fat, tusked behemoth that inspected him, but what about his friend? Did he escape, or were these pig men his comrades? Both were orcs after all. This was the only thing on his mind until he realized Mars was tied behind him.

“Protein, lots of protein,” the monster snorted in a low guttural growl. “But no fat on this one. He’s very green. May be vegetable.”

“Orc man,” Dige whispered to his partner. “I think these are your people.”

“What you say, small man!?” said the pig orc. “Speak big or I eat you.”

“Ay, my friend here is also an orc, from another clan, he is. You two should make nice.”

Mars did not react to this kindly and instead calmly built his breath. The grotesque cousin switched to him for sniffing.

“Orc? Green like orc, but nose like man. Eugh.” There were other guttural noises from the chief. His mind was in his version of complicated thinking, while his peons were gesturing wildly like they were insulting the two. Eventually, the orc’s mind concluded. “You are fellow orc. Yes, yes. This is true.”

“Ay, very true,” Dige nodded sagely.

“You are competition. I hate competition!” 

“Eh?” 

The orc chief hoisted Mars by the rope string and pulled him in like he was going to bite his face off when Mars’ gut reached capacity and he let out a hearty belch of fire. The chief flailed in agony, dropping Mars and allowing him to land on his feet that remained unbound. A terrible mistake on the orc’s part. 

Of the few that attacked, the peons were rebuffed with the hard and expert kicks of a martial artist, their weapons providing no extra reach as they attempted to stab their larger foe. Realizing the shift, Dige tensed and, through pure flexing, frayed and snapped the rope binding his chest. Though weaponless, Dige had his hands, which didn't have the same reach, but when lucky, he could throttle the rats with ease. The orcs were a low morale breed, and Dige was capable of utilizing fear to his advantage. The dwarf was scarier than the average monster.

“Run, you fools!” he roared. “I’m hungry for orc skin! Hahahaha!”

The small fry fled in all directions down the hill and back into the nearby forest. Those who didn’t were beaten unconscious, or were the orc chief with a new blackened exterior. The larger beast knocked Dige to the ground, pinning him under his hoofed foot. 

“Friend, help!” Dige called out.

But there was no response. Mars paid no attention to the dwarf. The orc chief snapped down and bit at Dige’s cheek. His beard provided some protection against the tusked gnashers, but he was being torn at like a dog with a chew toy. Dige’s free hand reached into hammer space.

“Damned vermin! Get off me!” 

He pulled out his screaming skull, and the purple eyes enveloped the feral creature with a ray of faint violet hue. A second later, the chief rolled over dead with not even a twitch out of the beast. Dige then tossed the skull back in the portal before it could hurl insults at him.

The dwarf, now muddy in both his front and back, brushed himself off and turned to his companion. “Hey, why didn’t ye help me?”

Mars turned around, but not before kicking the last orc across counties. He glanced at the dead chief before looking down at Dige.

“Oh, damn,” he said. “I was hoping it’d kill you.”

“That’s too frank!”

It didn’t take long to find their extra gear. The two had been taken captive right before waking up, so nothing was taken to the nearby camp. Dige had his supplies back and his handy axe, which glimmered despite its worn exterior. His grip tightened around the handle. He was just left for dead by the orc. Worse, he insulted him. Now he was armed, and Mars was still bound from the waist up. The thought entered his head, or rather, the emotion. The feeling of rage that marked a person’s name with the grudge label, one that could never be taken back again. 

His memories dwelled on each mark that had come before, each of them tinted bloody red in his mind. Their mere visages soured Dige’s mood into something fierce. The desire for violence. The desire for murder. The making of a lifelong enemy. He could see Mar’s face turning that crimson scarlet, but he couldn’t pull it through. He wanted to, but he also didn’t want to. So many grudges in so little time. Aside from that very first grudge, Dige never held it against anyone in his old world. Now he was facing his fourth. He had to look away. Despite the slight, despite the inconsideration, Dige wanted a friend more than a grudge. So instead of cutting his flesh, Dige cut the rope, freeing the orc. Mars groaned with relief, and for a moment, his eyes glimmered in appreciation for the short

one, but he forcibly shut it down.

“I’m hungry,” Mars said. His eyes trailed around the corpse-littered meadow. “I want pork.”

"Pork, you say." Dige's eyes went wide with fear.