Apostles of Doom

“Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I’m not sure that anyone would even notice if I was walking around in my true form, there are so many interesting and different people and animals here. I had only read about goblins and trolls, but there are quite a few just walking around, going about their normal business. At my old school, we were always told that goblins and trolls were sort of untrustworthy brigands and rogues. Here they seem just like normal people.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories about them, but of course always as comrades in arms, particularly during Ragnarök. Did you see that ogre with two heads a couple streets back?” Fer-Rog asked.

“Yeah, he — or is it they? was, or were, totally fierce! Seriously, would you address a two-headed person in the plural? I’m thinking it might hurt to get it wrong.”

“I don’t know. We should ask Beya. What I want to know is how does someone that tall fit in a tavern? Almost all of the doors here are only twelve feet tall. That ogre was probably eighteen feet tall.”

“Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I suspect there are ogre taverns. Probably giant inns and taverns as well. I noticed as we were flying in a section on the south side of the city, there were what appeared to be much larger buildings, and based on window spacing, I don’t think they just had a lot of floors.”

Fer-Rog shook his head. “I must have missed that. I was just too impressed by seeing a city — any city — for the first time.”

“It is a very diverse city. You notice how no one freaked out about D’Orcs at the campsite?”

“Yeah. They got a lot of attention, but it was all more curiosity than fear. ‘Orcs with wings, cool,’ seemed to be the response,” Fer-Rog said.

“I am sure that was disappointing.”

“Oh, I know it was; I was watching Hespith’s expression. She was not amused at how friendly people were. She really prefers it when people just meeting her cower in fear,” Fer-Rog said, nodding in agreement.

“Hey, you two!” an orc standing to the side with a bag over his shoulder called to them. He was about their own age, or the age they were pretending to be, about nineteen or twenty.

“Yeah?” Fer-Rog asked.

“You guys like to party? There’s a totally bashing dance party happening over at Head Smashers Lounge tonight. Admission is only three coppers and a two-drink minimum with this map,” the orc youth told them, waving a piece of paper.

“That sounds cool! We haven’t been to a party in at least a week,” Rupert said.

Fer-Rog nodded. “Yeah, cool!”

The orc grinned at them. “Here is a map. It’s only a few blocks from here. Give them the map for the reduced cover charge.”

“Cool!” Rupert said as the orc handed him the map.

“Thanks!” Fer-Rog nodded to him as they continued on their way.

“That was very nice of him to invite us to the party!” Rupert said.

“Yeah. A little odd that one has to pay money to party, though. Although I don’t know much about parties — or money, for that matter. Just the two we had here with the Olafas and back at Mount Doom after the oath taking.”

“I’m thinking it’s to pay the expenses of putting on the party. In a city, it’s not like a family thing; someone has to pay for things for the party,” Rupert explained.

“That makes sense!” Fer-Rog nodded.

“Think we are okay for money?” Rupert asked, fingering his small money pouch.

“I think so; we should have that many coppers. I mainly grabbed silver and gold coins before leaving the Abyss.”

Rupert shook his head. “I didn’t think of that. I just brought some emeralds, rubies and sapphires, all small to medium-sized. We should be able to exchange them for money.”

“Yeah, I am sure there will be some place willing to buy them,” Fer-Rog said.

“Cool!” Rupert replied.

Astlan, Near Mount Orc: Late Fifth Period

“Yes, I think this was the better plan,” Lob Smasher said, eyeing his roasted rabbit skewer. “We come in out of the east with Fierd’s light, fresh, rested and fully geared, rather than coming in at night, when our initial impression would be less than ideal.”

There was suddenly a thunderous ripping sound from behind Tal Gor as Schwarzenfürze finished eating her rabbit. The putrid miasmic odor that the Crooked Sticks had been getting only too used to caused everyone to start cursing and fleeing the cooking pit to get fresh air.

“That D’Warg, I swear she does that just to see us run away!” Bor Tal complained angrily.

Schwarzenfürze’s eyes followed him as he hopped away, the light of the campfire reflecting ominously in her eyes. It was, of course, very hard to see her expression in the dark, but Tal Gor assumed it was, as usual, rather mocking. Tal Gor was absolutely certain she did it simply for her own amusement; the timing was always just a little too perfect.

Ithgar, Orcopolis, Head Smasher Lounge: Mid Sixth Period