Epilogue: Inn Between Worlds

Some months later, Lamora announced her intentions to step down as Prime Ministress. She timed it so a coalition successor was favored to take over, of course, and only after the much-needed governmental reforms Skott had brought from Earthside took effect.

Redeemer activity continued in the northern province of Elvood and intermittently in the south, as military and security reforms required slightly more lead-time, and a guerrilla movement could always adapt to any strategy.

Snow fell over Boston, filling a certain suburban backyard.

“Welcome,” said Skott. “You all from Crossroads Ford? Welcome to Cross-world Inn.”

A mixed group of goblins, orcs, and humans milled about in the ‘lobby.’ In actuality, it was just Skott’s kitchen.

“Our first customers were refugees from Crossroads Ford!” said the concierge, who was actually just Lucy here on a part-time gig. “We only actually have like three rooms, but we’ll get you situated.”

“Hey, real estate here is expensive,” Skott said. “And your mother and I need the master suite for sure. There’s only so many rooms I could throw a bed into, and none of them are up to code.”

Nevertheless, Skott took this party’s coin and pointed them to a spare bedroom upstairs.

It was more a bed and breakfast than an inn. A way for small groups to lay low outside of Aeirun. Or for tourists just looking to visit the land where Skott of Omaha hailed from. They only received a few guests a week, and payment in Aeirun gold admittedly didn’t translate well when it came time to pay the mortgage…

The front door opened.

“I’m back.” Nessa stomped her feet on a doormat, wearing a heavy jacket.

“You won’t need that where you’re heading,” Lucy said. “Worry not, for t’is a tropical land.”

Skott and Nessa nodded at each other as Lucy escorted Nessa to the back door. This was part of the ‘deal’ Nessa had worked out upon learning about Aeirun. Evidently she wanted an 'otherworldly vacation' -- and Lucy, Skottson, and Sethset could provide as tour guides to the other world. 

“My brothers and I shall accompany you!” Lucy declared. “Worry not, you’re safe with us.”

“Stay safe,” Skott said. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Nessa said. “Came back with an orcish housewife and five kids to feed.”

“She’s a career politician,” Skott corrected as Nessa followed Lucy out the door. "She just stepped down for a bit to... rest. Y'know." 

Heavy footsteps came from the stairs.

“Do I hear someone talking about me?” Lamora said, from the living room.

“Eh, it was nothing important,” Skott said.

Lamora emerged dressed in a combination of loose Earth-fashion and an Aerunian dress. Her hair was loose...

“Triplet cravings are nowhere near as bad…” she said.

… while her hand draped gently around a gravid belly. Her shirt was a loose-fitting Bruins hoody, more than elastic enough to keep a bare, green baby bump from appearing.

“Even so,” she began. “Skott, I require you to head to this Earth tavern that is on every corner and acquire snack’n bacon.”

“Again, huh?” Skott made sure not to laugh.

“Be sure to get at least five,” Lamora told him. “The little ones are especially ravenous on this day.”

The she-orc looked down at her belly. Only the twenty-year-old initial breeding season typically produced a full litter of five orcs. Subsequent cycles produced a more modest three-four on average. But, well, Skott and Lamora’s reunion arc happened to line up with the every-five-to-six-year orc mating season. One thing led to another and, well, they were about to have ten mouths to feed. At least the first litter all had their own jobs and duties now… still, with a mortgage to pay and no steady Earth-career, bills could pile up... 

“Honey,” Skott said. “What say you we move back to Old Omaha? Won’t be as many donut shops, but they’ll have plenty of steak. We can afford a place four times this size with a sprawling backyard for the kids to run around in. What do you think?”

Lamora paused for a time, gently cupping her hands under her belly. Then:

“I think I have a new craving. Get me this fabled steak of Omaha, Skott.”