#orcposting

There was a baker who lived there. Specialized in, well, you'd call it Orc Bread. It's a pastry: thick dry crust, concentrated fruit filling. You're supposed to pierce it with your tusks, let the filling ooze out. If you eat it like a human, you have to chew your way through the driest, flakiest bread you can imagine before getting blasted in the mouth with sweet. I've never eaten it incorrectly, but the filling's supposed to taste like blood if you do it that way, which is why those elves decided to call it Orc Bread.

The ground soaked in a knuckle's depth of blood and ash

Anyways, so there was a baker in Orc City. Whenever the trading routes brought us back to Orc City, my parents would stop by, buy some Orc Bread, and the baker would play up his hospitality so they'd tell everybody on the trading routes how pleasant and friendly he was. And that would give me a few hours to play with his Orc Daughter. On the south side of Orc City, the buildings were built so close together that you could walk over the rooftops, and that's what we did. We'd race back and forth across the shingles, three stories above the ground. We'd find some shade and sit down and I'd tell her about all the other Orc Cities and she'd call bullshit on every other thing I told her. 

We'd run into other people on the rooftops as well. Orc Mothers drying their laundry. Orc Artists painting the sky. And we'd see all sorts of people in the streets and alleys below. Orc Gamblers, throwing dice in the shadows. Orc Soldiers, hauling the gamblers out of the shadows, encouraging them to enlist. Orc Lovebirds getting up to mischief. 

The savage cries of its defenders now silent

We saw two older boys making out in the alley behind the orphanage and she and I both agreed it looked kind of stupid but worth trying. I asked her to kiss me and she said she'd do it if I jumped from her father's roof to the roof across the street: a gap large enough to run a horse through. 

I said no. Contrary to common conception, my people rather enjoy being alive. We argued for a bit and then begged her father for some Orc Bread, and then we argued for a bit more, and finally agreed to do it for the sake of curiosity. Her lips were what I imagine Orc Bread tastes like if you eat it the wrong way. Salty and sweet at random. The way she gagged, I think mine tasted the same. We decided it was a stupid grown-up thing that we'd never bother with, like walking instead of running, or taking baths. 

I don't think either of us ever got into kissing. Even when she figured out she wasn't into boys, she'd still squirm and fuss whenever a lover would put her lips to her skin. The last time I saw her was years ago. I decided to quit trading in favor of running a tavern two days travel away, and she, well, she learned how to build houses in Orc City.

overseen by the architect of its very destruction.

It's tab'esh. That's what Orc Bread is actually called. The city was Yeb Arokiv. Her name is Kerashi. Or was. A few of the refugees mention seeing someone who could be her escape. A few more spotted someone who could be her dead in the streets. It's all anybody's been talking about for the past year, who's alive, who's dead, what they're going to burn to the ground next. I had to learn who among my regulars will start weeping openly if they start drinking too much and cut them off early. 

Hey. You listening? Tab'esh, Yeb Arokiv, Kerashi. Now say it back to me. No, no, you want to use a long 'ah' sound with Arokeev. Again. Good. Well, awful, but not completely worthless. Here, I'll pour you another drink, you surly tinhead.

You're the fifteenth human to come into here since the garrison arrived, you know. I'd probably still be serving you even if your commander wasn't guaranteeing the city's hospitality at spearpoint. Your money's as good as anybody else's. And it's not like popping your head off like a pimple would build Yeb Arokiv back from the ashes. Relax, that was a joke. 

No, seriously, it was a joke. A joke! You can't possibly be taking that seriously. You're armed and you have twenty pounds of muscle on me. Put the knife d-ow!

The Orc Wars were finally over. 

Oh that son of a...Danai, if you chase him down, I'll clear your tab. Miradi, bandages, top cabinet upstairs. My chest is...killing me, it's...oh fuck us, he's going to call the gendarmerie on this place. They're going to throw us in the cages.