Backwash Plaid

Those fucking knights were there again, Lark thought angrily, looking at the group of six armored men on horseback. She wasn't really even sure they were Knights, to be honest. She knew they weren't Knights of the kingdom she belonged to. They didn't bear any sigil, or ride under any colors. But they did all have armor, and horses, and expensive-looking swords and polearms. She supposed anyone could really go out and get armor and swords; she didn't really know though she didn't keep up with that crap. Knights or not, they were asshats, and she was tired of having to always deal with their shit any time she had to go to the forest to gather her ingredients. It was the only established path out of town and they had to sit right on it and antagonize every passerby. She supposed she could go around them, but it was all flat and lightly wooded all the way to the village from here, and while mountain elves such as herself were light on their feet and quick over hills and rocky valleys, she wasn't going to be outrunning any horses over flat, lightly forested terrain.

Lark sighed and stood up, brushing off the knees of the rough, thick grey pants she wore when gathering ingredients. She leaned back against the tree she had been peering around and sighed heavily. She rubbed her brow in agitation, and rapidly scratched at her scalp, fluffing her exceptionally thick, silky black hair in the process. She brushed a couple errant strands behind her long ear. Today was just not going well, she thought. She hadn't been able to find any blooming redroot, the pink morels she had found were quite small, and now these jerks were back waiting at the road again. She huffed angrily and kicked at a small rock. Well, might as well get this over with, she thought, no reason to prolong the inevitable annoyance. She picked up her leather satchel half full with plant roots, fish eggs and strange leaves.

She nervously tugged at and toyed with the strap of her satchel as she walked along the densely packed dirt road. The town was within sight, she wouldn't have to deal with these morons for long, she assured herself. She briefly toyed with the idea of slogging up some potions of gratuitous anal seepage and surreptitiously sneaking them into their food. But, she wasn't an assassin, or a thief; she was an apothecary, and she certainly wasn't willing to pay either of the two to do it for her. Their prices for such "menial work," as they put it, were astronomical. Apparently if it didn't involve pilfering, poisoning or pussy, they weren't interested. She knew that was the case, it said so on the door to the thieves guild in the next town over.

She pulled the thick braid of her hair over her shoulder and tugged at the end of it, twirling some of the strands of hair around her finger. Maybe they would let her pass quietly this time, she hoped. She could hear them joking with each other, laughing at some terribly crude story about what one of them had done to a barmaid in a disreputable bordello. Ugh, she thought, even if the woman was of ill repute, she didn't deserve to be treated the way this idiot was bragging about treating her. Whatever, it was only a short distance to pass them now. She held her head up proudly and quickened her pace.

One of the Knights nudged the one next to him. The story, and laughs, swiftly died as they all hungrily eyed the lovely tan mountain elf as she approached them.

"Your caramel-elf is back, Vic," one of the Knights said to the one in the freshest and newest of armor. "I don't know what you see in those leaf-eared nature freaks." "Pussy is pussy," Vic said gruffly, "don't matter if it's human or some leaf-eared bitch." He eyed the supple curve of her waist and hips, the long and thick fullness of her legs, and the bounce of her perky breasts as she walked. "Good morning, missy," Vic said genially to the elf, his voice dripping with belligerence. The elf pretended not to notice and simply continued walking. "I think she's ignoring you," one of the Knights said, spitting onto the ground. Vic grit his teeth and leveled his polearm, blocking the elf's path. "I said, 'good morning.' It's not polite to ignore your superiors." Lark stopped and looked up at the knight, her narrow purple eyes glimmering in the sun. "It's past noon," she said angrily, her voice having taken on a dark quality. "Now, clearly you need to learn to tell time, and I need to be getting back to my shop, so we both have places to be. Have a pleasant afternoon." Lark heard one of the Knights snort out a laugh at Vic's expense. With that, she swooped under his polearm and continued down the path.

"Hold on a second." Vic reigned up his horse and deftly brought it around to block her path. He was an asshole, but he did know how to control his mount, Lark noted. The other Knights quickly came up and blocked off the road behind her. "What've you got in the bag, sweetie?" He asked, pointing at the large leather satchel at her side. "None of your concern. And I'm not your sweetie," Lark growled. "Lets see the bag." Lark quickly turned to the left but another one of the Knights moved up his horse, blocking the path. "We ain't done chatting yet," he said through the metal visor. "Oh fuck off," Lark snapped. "Missy, you'll give up that bag unless you want an ugly scar gracing your pretty face," Vic said. Lark seemed to suddenly loose confidence. She sighed and lowered her head. "Fine, whatever," she said meekly. Vic was glowing with self-infatuation. Nothing like ordering the peasants around to really bring your day together, he thought.

From her bag, the downcast Lark produced a fist-sized white clay ball, with a blue stripe running along it and a string dangling off the side. "Behold," Lark said, holding it aloft. "I said give me the bag, not take the stuff out you batty-" Vic spat. Before he could finish, a sudden change washed over Lark. She grinned in a vicious manner, yanked the string on the ball and pitched it at his face. The solid crack it emitted as it interrupted his speech and crushed his nose practically echoed off of the trees in the silence of the moment. With a sharp hissing and whizzing noise the ball blasted forth a monstrous cloud of thick blue smoke, obscuring the vision of everyone and sending all the Knights into a coughing fit. Lark used her natural elfin agility to leap up, land of the horses back and then leap again to the ground several meters away.  Vic's horse, startled by the smoke and the sudden weight on its back, reared up sharply and bucked Vic off, depositing him neatly in a pile of armor on the roadside.

Lark laughed heartily as she darted off, running as fast as she could. The smoke had already dissipated, those puffers were really only good for a second or two. She had learned how to make them from a thief as a trade for some blood clotting potions. She had always thought they were quite keen, but had regretted never really being able to use one. But still, she carried it everywhere anyway, secretly hoping for the day she could finally use one in anger instead of just setting them off on holidays for the enjoyment of the local children. And now, that opportunity had come! What a rush! They worked so well! She could hear the Knights clamoring behind her, reigning in their horses and attempting to escape from the complete shambles she had left them in. She heard Vic yelling at them to go after her, and his calling her by a litany of foul names. And actually, she was pretty sure some of the Knights were now laughing at Vic. She had a growing suspicion he wasn't liked even by his own compatriots.

She giggled to herself and continued sprinting. She would just get around the next bend, and then jump up into the trees to hide until the Knights ran past. It couldn't be that hard; those prissy wood elves hid in trees all the time. The sounds of their confusion began to fade, and Lark looked over her shoulder behind her as she rounded the bend, hoping she would have enough time for a stealthy climb.

Suddenly, she slammed into what felt like a solid oak tree and was promptly knocked down, sending up a thin plume of dust, visible only for a moment in the yellow shafts of light filtering through the trees. "Iflin's greatbow!" She exclaimed, wincing and looking up at what she had hit, expecting a tree or a cart or something similarly solid. Instead, she was presented with a tall Orc, carrying two huge bundles of bricks secured with rope and wood in each hand. He sported a dusty cloth apron worn over a simple shirt with rolled up sleeves, exposing his intensely thick, muscular forearms. His brown pants were covered in the same white dust as his apron. His hair was black, rough, and shaved at the sides, secured in the back by a short ponytail held in place by twine. He stared down at her past his angular, wide nose with small yellow eyes.

"Sorry," he said quietly. He set down his bundles and held out a thick, ponderous hand to help her up. Without thinking, Lark put her small, smooth hand into his great, callused one. He gently helped her to her feet. "You okay?" He asked, his voice as seemingly heavy and gruff as the bales of bricks he had been carrying. For the first time in her life, Lark could literally not think of anything to say. She simply stared at this tall, muscular Orc, her eyes wide. She had seen Orcs before, but never one so... Handsome.

The Orc frowned slightly, the expression pronounced greatly due to his small tusks, and raised an eyebrow. "Mountain elf... Hmm... You're the apothecary, right?" He asked, "I don't know of any other mountain elves in town. I’m... Umm... I’m the baker. You know, the only orc baker in town?" His speech was slow, deliberate, and Lark found it intensely soothing. "Umm..." He mumbled quietly, and scratched at the side of his head. He blinked and looked up as he became aware of the stomping of horse hooves coming towards him. He motioned towards the sound. "That wouldn't have anything to do with you, now would it?" The sound snapped Lark back to her senses, and she quickly clambered onto one of the bales of bricks and tried to jump up to the nearest large tree branch.

"I wasn't here!" She yelped. She lunged swiftly but missed the tree branch she was aiming for and instead grabbed the trunk of the tree. Embarrassingly, she slid down the smooth trunk and ended up no nearer to the branch than when she had started. The Orc said nothing and simply stared, very confused with what was transpiring. Lark attempted to scuttle her way up the wide tree trunk, but found that scaling a vertical surface wasn't as easy as she had thought it would be. How the fuck did wood elves do this, she grumpily thought.

"I don't think mountain elves are very good at climbing trees," observed the Orc. "Well, I know that now!" Lark snapped, pivoting around and facing him. Some of her black hair fell into her face as she glared angrily, "Now give me a boost, mister!" The Orc sighed and moved towards her, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into this time. Before he had gone far though, the group of Knights stormed around the corner, and Lark quickly darted behind the Orc and attempted to hide behind his large frame. "Hey, wait a second. Don't involve me in this," he grumbled, as he lifted his arm and turned to look at her. "You look like you can be scary! Just do something!" She ordered.

For a moment he considered simply picking up his bricks and walking away. His house was just down the road. But the way this elf trembled and looked at him with those big violet eyes, and that pouty look on her full lips... "It's the harpy incident all over again," he muttered gruffly. Lark seemed agitated by that remark and was about to say so, but the Orc interrupted her thoughts. "What's your name?" He asked curtly, as the Knights rapidly approached. "Lark." "Lockwood. Figured I should at least know your name before I go ringing folks' bells for ya." The stomping of the Knights horses hooves was thundering, and the mighty hooves kicked up plumes of dirt that danced and rolled in the sunlight as they stomped and pranced to a stop just a few feet shy of the couple. Lockwood looked up at Vic, whose eyes were still watering, and blood was still oozing from his nose.

"Oh. It's these fuckstains. Again," Lockwood remarked coldly, folding his huge arms, "I'm pretty sure I told you forg lothki's to stay out of my fucking woods?" It may have been years since he had lived with a horde, but his Orcish cursing had not lost its edge. He pointed directly at a knight in the back of the group with a large patched and soldered dent in the side of his chest armor. "And I know damn sure I told YOU that." His voice was like a hail of gravel and rumbled through the trees. Leaves shook, the plumes of dust rushed away from him, and Lark felt her knees go weak for a moment. The knight he had singled out stared wide eyed for a moment, and quickly reigned in his horse in the other direction and made a swift escape. The physical bruises and emotional damage from the last time he had confronted the Orc were still fresh. Lockwood folded his arms again and smirked. "Smart kid." He looked at the remaining Knights, a terrific stern look on his face. "Well? The fuck you want?"

"Where's your horde, Orc?" One of the Knights asked. "Don't have one." "Bullshit." "Nah, he's a pacifist. Been squatting out here for years," one of the other Knights said. The Knights who hadn't personally faced him before chortled and bellowed at the thought of that. "Who ever heard of a pacifist Orc?!" One gasped. Lockwood bent down and picked up a brick from the bundle by his side. It was a normal sized brick, but Lark couldn't help but notice how much smaller it seemed in his hands.

"Pacifism in orc society means one finds pleasure in simply existing and being one with nature instead of reveling in combat," he explained gently, "it doesn't mean I won't crush your puny jaw with a brick." The last was said through clenched teeth, and he spat it out like a bit of bone in his meat. Vic replied by drawing his sword and pointing it directly at Lockwood. "Hand over the leaf-eared cunt behind you, and maybe I'll let you live," Vic snarled nasally. He had been humiliated by Lark's smoke bomb, but he had a brilliant plan to regain that pride. He would take the elf back, and when the Orc handed her over he'd sneer 'I said I would let you live. Not them.' And he'd cackle wildly as his gang tore the Orcish scum to shreds. It was his best plan yet, which says quite a bit for the quality of his plans since this one was so obviously shit. However, Lockwood didn't know about his plan or that it hinged on the Orc in question being a complete coward; which he wasn't. So Lockwood instead snorted out a rough laugh at Vic's nasally whiny voice and cocked his head sideways.

Lockwood snorted quietly, smirking as he looked down the length of the shiny, engraved steel blade. He reached up, grabbed the blade in his broad hand and simply jerked it out of Vic's. “Ghk- GIVE THAT BACK!” Vic snarled, completely stunned by this turn of events.  Lockwood moved the sword up and down, judging its weight.  He stood there, staring at the knight, a blank look on his face. “Make. Me,” Lockwood hissed.  Lark felt her knees go weak again.  She was very quickly becoming enrapt with this gruff orc. "Goddamnit, FINE!" Vic shouted, bringing up his polearm to smash into the Orc.

For someone as big as he was, he moved incredibly fast, Lark noted, as she was falling backwards. Before Vic had finished shouting his orders, Lockwood had already pushed her a safe distance back with the forearm of his arm holding the brick. He and pitched the sword hilt-first at the second knight closest to him. The hilt connected squarely with his unprotected neck, and the knight sputtered and collapsed off the side of his horse. The polearm that Vic had swung at him didn't seem to be too terribly sharp either, she noted, because Lockwood easily grasped and stopped the blade with one hand mid-swing and tore the weapon out of Vic's hands.

Lark landed firmly on her rear, and scrambled to her feet, eager to see every second of this beatdown the Knights were owed for every passer-by they had antagonized. She marveled at the sheer speed and muscular ability of Lockwood as he threw the brick in his hand at another knight while swiveling the polearm around by the blade and bringing it crashing onto the side of Vic's helmet. The brick slammed directly into the visor of the first Knights helmet, caving it in somewhat and sending him reeling backwards into the ground. Vic, stunned that he had been disarmed for a second time, had absolutely no time to reorganize for a counterattack and took the full brunt of a solid wood handle to the side of his helmet. He gurgled noisily and slumped off his horse into a patch of ferns on the roadside.

Lockwood, meanwhile, had grabbed another brick, pitched it at the fourth knight, and started rushing towards the fifth and farthest away who was likewise charging him on his horse. The brick readily felled the fourth knight as it impacted his chest. The fifth knight leveled his polearm, spiked point aimed squarely at Lockwood's chest, ready to thrust it home. But the Orc simply side-stepped the predictable attack, grabbed the knight by his chain mail armor and tore him from his mount. He slammed the knight to the ground, grabbed his shoulders and battered him into the earth a couple times for good measure, causing the knight to slam his head. The knight groaned and went limp, the effect of the concussion immediately apparent.

"Look out!" Lark shouted, frantically motioning. Two of the Knights, Vic and the fourth one to drop, had gotten back up and were advancing towards Lockwood, armed with a dagger and a shortsword, respectively. Lark grabbed one of the bricks in the pile, grunting with effort at how heavy and dense it was.

"Catch!" She yelled, pitching it with two hands to him. Lockwood easily caught the brick one handed, and stood up to face the threat approaching him. "Oh, You really want to have fun, eh?" Lockwood grunted at the fourth, smiling menacingly. His sharp teeth and tusks were bared. A sliver of saliva dropped from his mouth. Lark wondered if maybe he wasn't as much of a pacifist as he claimed. The fourth knight was still winded from the brick, and slightly dizzy. He held the sword out in front of him with two hands. He'd seen how the Orc had seemingly disregarded all known facts about bladed weapons and just caught them by the dangerous bit and pulled them away, so he was understandably less confident in how effective this sword would really be.

"Well!? Go fucking get him!" Vic screamed at the knight.

The fourth knight quickly weighed his options: either get mauled and possibly molested by this hulking wall of green muscle who hitherto had singlehandedly felled his cohorts with bricks, or face the shame of fleeing from combat. He straightened up, sheathed his sword and took off running in the direction his horse hand meandered away. Fleeing was good, he thought, fleeing would keep him alive. He could go home, sell his armor and become a cobbler or something. He'd always thought shoes were interesting, and safe. Both Lockwood and Vic watched the last of his Knights take off running, and then turned back to look at each other. Vic looked at the big Orc, wide eyed, bloody-nosed and full of fear for what was about to happen.

"You're out of Knights. And I've still got two piles of bricks left," Lockwood growled, lumbering towards him with a menacing grin. Vic grit his teeth and hurled the dagger at Lockwood's face. He easily deflected the sad attack with his brick, and was on top of Vic in a flash, pinning him against a tree by the collar of his armor with one hand.

"M-mercy! Please!" Vic pleaded. The Orc stared at him, yellow eyes burning intensely, saying nothing. "Please! I would have let you live!" "I very much doubt that." Now that the fighting was over, Lark cautiously approached the two, stopping to pick up the engraved sword that Lockwood had taken in the first seconds of the fight.

"Ever squeeze a tomato a little too hard?" Lockwood asked, he slowly moved his wide palm towards Vic's face. Vic turned his head in fear, looking away from the orcs hand, and Lockwood pressed his palm against his head, pushing it against the tree. "Maybe it was a little too ripe, or you squeeze just a little too hard. But something gives and it splits. All of this thick slop just gushes out the side." Lockwood pressed slightly harder, and Vic began sobbing. "Please! I promise I'll never come back!" He cried. "That's what your buddy who ran off first said last time he was here and broke my fence." "I swear it! I swear it on the Goddess Ayth! I will never come back!" "But the other Knights will." "I'm not even a real knight I just pretend to be wuh-huh-hunnnnnn..." Vic whimpered as Lockwood pressed his palm a little harder, "we just bought the armor!" "You promise to never come anywhere near this town again?" Lockwood asked. "Yes! Yes, I promise!"

Lockwood hesitated. "Mmmmm... I think I'd rather squish your head," he grumbled. Vic yowled loudly, and then spotted Lark approaching, holding his sword by the hilt and bouncing the flat of the blade off her shoulder as she walked. "Please! Elf! Talk some sense into him!" He cried. Lark walked up to Lockwood and gently put her hand on his forearm. She smiled brightly. "Now Lockwood, I'm sure we can be reasonable about this," she cooed as she dragged her fingers tenderly across the orc's forearm. "All he really wanted was for me to do naughty things to him," her voice was thick and sensual, like slipping into a warm bed of the most luxuriant satin, "so why don't I oblige him?" "What?" Lockwood and Vic said, both looking at her.

 Lark slammed the flat of the light blade against Vic's bare ass. She grunted with exertion as she did, and Vic sobbed loudly. "...and this is because you're a naughty boy who thinks it's okay to trample my wort-reed for fun!" She shouted hoarsely. "I'm sorry!" Vic cried. "I didn't here a 'Mistress' in there, perhaps you WOULD LIKE ME TO GET THE BELT AGAIN?" Lark roared. "No Mistress! I'm sorry Mistress! I'm a bad boy, Mistress!" He sobbed loudly, as his arms strained against the ropes tying him down to the fallen log. Lark sauntered up to him and grabbed a handful of his blonde hair, tugging his head back and whispering in his ear. "If you want the belt so bad, you only have to ask for it. You don't have to stop using the rules we agreed on so I punish you..." She said, her voice a sweet whispering lilt. "I don't want the belt mistress. You are a kind and benevolent person and I promise I won't be bad again," Vic whimpered. Lark shoved his head and turned away from him, slapping the flat of the blade against her palm as she walked.

Lockwood sat on a stump by the road, and held the shattered remains of the brick he had thrown at the second knight. Poor fire brick, he thought, it didn't even get to see its first loaf of bread. He sighed and gently placed the bits of brick on top of one of his stacks of brick. He heard the swish of a sword flying sideways through the air and the smack of a flat surface against skin. Vic cried out again and Lark laughed loudly. "Come on sweetie-pie!" She cooed, "this is SO naughty! Aren't you enjoying this?" "Yes mistress! I promise from now on I will respect individuals for who they are, and not berate them for being a different gender!!!" Lockwood pretended not to be listening.

He had gathered the fallen Knights up and watched them as Lark had "set up" to do "naughty things" to Vic. As each had woken up, he had explained to them that what they had been doing was literally being highwaymen. He also explained to them that if he he ever saw them again, they would be killed, or worse; he'd let Lark have fun with them. Vic's sobs and cries of "yes mistress" were more than enough convincing for them. Except for the third knight, who seemed strangely aroused by Lark's dominant yells and asked if he could take his leader's place, or at least have a turn when Lark was done with Vic.

"...this one is for little Gwynevere, because you threw her doll in the river!" Lark shouted, slamming the flat of the blade against his ass again. "Forgive me mistress! I swear on my ancestors I will never be naughty again and I will treat others with kindness and respect!" Vic cried between choked sobs. Lark exhaled noisily and pushed some of her hair out of her sweaty face. She squatted in front of him and grabbed Vic by the chin, squishing his cheeks. "You swear it?" She asked. She stared directly into his eyes, and he felt like she was boring her way into his soul. Her narrow face held an expression of the utmost intensity. "Yebth Mibthress!" He said, "I pbromith I'll be goob from now on, Mibthress!" Lark sighed and stood, stretching gracefully as she did so. She carefully untied the ropes holding the faux knight down and let him shakily clamor to his feet.

"You're a new man," she said, patting him firmly on the shoulder. Vic looked at her with teary eyes, blood still under his broken nose. She smiled at him, her tan cheeks flushing slightly, and violet eyes glinting. She gave him a friendly hug, and then turned and swept her arm across the landscape, motioning to the winding road. "Now go," she said, "Go forth and show the world what kind of man you've become. Show them you're not a silly boy anymore." "C-can I have my clothes back?" Vic asked sheepishly. Lark snapped the leather belt for her satchel against her palm and tilted her head, smiling much in the same way death would smile when claiming a soul. "Hmm?" She asked. "Farewell, mistress," Vic quickly replied.

He turned and staggered past Lockwood, pausing to look at him with haggard eyes and a faraway stare. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you. I see now the folly of my ways and that even though we are two different races, we deserve the same quality of life," Vic said. Lockwood stared at him cooly, and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sure, man," Lockwood said. And with that, Vic turned on his heel and staggered down the road. Lark came up behind Lockwood and placed her soft hands on his shoulder. "Interesting day, huh?" She asked. "One hundred and twenty six," Lockwood replied. "What?" "One hundred and twenty six loaves of pumpernickel I had to bake to get those fire bricks. I hate pumpernickel. It smells weird and takes too long to bake." "Oh! That’s right! You're the Orc baker that lives outside of town! I love the flatbread you make!" She remarked. Lockwood sighed. He picked up his stacks of bricks and stated walking down the road to his house.

"I'll buy you a new brick," Lark said sweetly, following after him as he plodded along, "you did save my life, after all."  She batted her eyelids and smiled brightly at him. "...it's fine.  It was just one brick." "Well, I'm the only apothecary in town, so if you ever need any remedies, potions or healing salves, I'm only a short trip away.  I'll even give you a discounted rate!" She said with a wink. "That's good to know," Lockwood said.  He continued walking along quietly, feet crunching on the packed dirt path.  Lark tagged along with him, walking at his side.  She folded her hands together behind her back and happily trotted along next to him, looking around at the trees, the birds, at Lockwood, and the green grass, the soft ferns, back at Lockwood again.  She hummed a gentle, lilting tune and turned with the Orc as he turned and walked down a cobblestone path that led off the main road.

Lark was having a hard time not staring Lockwood.  He was so unlike any other Orc she had seen.  Usually they were rugged, sure, but they generally weren't so handsome.  Lockwood was at least a couple feet taller than her, and seemed to be brimming with toned, sinewy muscle.  Even his exposed forearms sported a clearly defined line of the muscles within.  His hands too!  Oh those thick, strong hands, how easily and deftly they had handled those bricks like weapons, and yet had been so gentle with her when he helped her up.  His skin was a fresh, light green color accented by ruddy tints, and looked smooth and pleasing, so unlike the rough, craggy skin of most orcs.   

His face, Lark chewed softly on her lower lip as she glanced him over, his face was truly something.  An accented but not jutting brow.  A broad, angular noble-like nose.  Well defined, strong cheekbones.  A prominent jaw with a thick, dashing chin.  His eyes were a lovely golden yellow, and were made all the brighter for the dark black surrounding them.  Lark giggled as she looked him over, drinking in his handsome, robust appearance.  

Lockwood sighed and and set down his bricks, turning to look at the elf with folded arms.   "So... What?  Do you want to order some bread or something?  Mary, at the bakery in town, takes all the orders for me.  I just bake the bread.  I don't usually take orders here."  His voice was gruff, and he clearly sounded agitated.  Lark shrugged and shook her head. "Nope, don't need any bread now," she said perkily, rocking back and forth slightly on the balls of her feet. "Then what?" Lockwood grumped, clearly exasperated. "I thought you could use company while you bake!" She said cheerfully.   "Goodbye," Lockwood said curtly, picking up his bricks and walking off.  Lark skipped after him. "What're the bricks for?" She asked, disregarding his farewell. "I'm building a new brick oven.  Goodbye," he said.

He walked between two large oak trees and came to rough wooden gate and fence, which fenced in a decent sized cleared yard in a densely wooded area.  In the yard was a simple square cabin, large enough for an Orc to live comfortably, with a second more robust looking addition built into it, that Lark assumed was his bakery.  The cabin was made of planks, instead of rough logs, had a terra cotta and wood roof, and even some windows with herbs growing in the planters on them.  It was immediately evident that time and great care had been put into this home.  Some brown chickens clucked and bobbed around in the yard, pecking at the grass and dirt for grubs.

Lockwood opened the gate and walked in, making sure to close it behind him.  He brought the bricks up to the house and gently set them down next to the wide bakery doors, as the chickens flocked towards him.  Lark opened the gate and followed Lockwood in.  

"Ladies," Lockwood said to his chickens as they clucked noisily, "Louisa, Yvette, Victoria, Franchesca, Roberta, Colette, Morgana.  Good, you're all here.  Lunch will be served presently,"  He pointed at each chicken with a robust finger as he counted them out.  Having ensured everyone was present, he opened a barrel next to the house and produced a cup filled with grain.  The chickens began to cluck noisily, and Lark giggled at this display.  An Orc talking to and caring for chickens he had named individually.  Nobody would believe this unless they had met him personally.