The Heavenly Host

“When was this?” Tom was curious.

“Shortly after the Courts realized we were here, so I’d guess between twenty thousand to five thousand years ago.” Zelda shrugged.

Tom gave a small shake of his head. The historical timeframes he was dealing with just kept getting longer and longer. It really took some getting used to.

“So,” Völund said, interrupting his thoughts. “Good?” The fellow was not a man of many words.

“Yes, I think it’s a great idea,” Tom said.

“Well enough.” Völund pulled some sort of contraption out of a bag that hung from his belt. He quickly brought it up to his eyes and pointed the other end at Tom. It appeared to be some sort of steampunk binoculars, with various odd protrusions and some extra crystals on little arms jutting out from the sides, top and bottom.

“Smile,” Völund said.

Puzzled, Tom smiled. Suddenly there was a huge flash of light and a crack of thunder. Tom blinked in surprise. As his eyesight cleared, Völund was lowering the device.

“Should have a proof of the casting by tomorrow. If approved, we can mint the inaugural coins right after we finish the ceremony, before I get too drunk,” Völund stated rather matter-of-factly. He then turned and walked away, muttering, “Looking forward to that drunk, so I am. Four millennia is too long to be sober.”

Tom gave a puzzled glance to Zelda as the smith walked away. “He’s not exactly social, but he is good at what he does. The only smith who can even compare is Hephaestus, and he’s a god,” Zelda told him.

“So what is Völund?” Tom asked after the smith had hobbled off down a tunnel. “He’s not a D’Orc.”

Zelda grimaced slightly. “I don’t exactly know. He is jötunnkind, and according to the stories he’s told while drunk, or so I am told, he used to bed Valkyries fairly routinely, so he must not have been a stranger to Valhalla or Ásgarðr'. He has been here since Ragnarök. I’m told that in the old days, he and Loki often went on long benders together.”

∼

Dider, Zerg, Nagh and Vespa began positioning the last round of D’Warg saddles on the saddle frames in the tack room. Dider chuckled.

“What is so funny?” Zerg asked.

“Just thinking about the great time we had. It’s been so long since I have hunted on the Planes of Orcs,” she replied.

“It has been a long time. It was good to hunt with my tribe again,” Zerg said. He was a first-generation Crooked Stick, and unlike Vespa, had been born as an orc in Astlan.

“So,” Tegh Nornfell asked as he brought in the last saddlebag, “were the Crooked Sticks so relaxed in your day?”

“Relaxed?” Zerg asked, puzzled.

“They did seem a little at ease. I noticed that myself,” Dider An Sep added. She was of the Fen Horde on Romdan, like Teg Nornfell.

“I am not following what you mean,” Zerg said suspiciously.

“Well, I’m just saying that I saw none of the typical signs of their being on a war footing. It seemed a bit unusual,” Dider said.

“I didn’t really notice, but then I’ve never met an orc before,” said Nagh, who was third generation in the Abyss.

“Exactly, Dider. The band seemed a little pacifistic to — ” CRUNCH! THUD! Tegh never finished his sentence, as he was interrupted by Vespa’s fist smashing into his face with a loud sound of bone crunching, followed by a large thud when he hit the back wall of the tack room twenty feet away. The D’Orc slid down the wall.

Tegh reached his hand up to his nose to pinch off the bleeding. “Sorry, Vespa,” he mumbled.

“Apology accepted.” Vespa said sternly as she strode over to the downed D’Orc. “It’s just that we are talking about my tribe, and well, you know us women. We can only put up with so much damn vulgarity before we get pissed and have to act. And, you gotta know, if you’re going to be tossing the P-word around when talking about my tribe, I’m gonna have to put my fist in your face.”

Tegh nodded, holding his nose with one hand and reaching up to take Vespa’s outstretched arm to assist him in getting back up. “I do. It was thoughtless and stupid of me. It has been so long; I think I’ve forgotten most of my manners.” He shook his head slowly, trying to determine if his neck was broken. “Sorry.”

“I understand. And to be fair, they did not seem completely battle-ready to me either,” Vespa admitted.

Dider snorted. “Well, on the bright side, as far as I could determine they had no lawyers or diplomats!”

The D’Orcs all burst out laughing at such a preposterous idea.

“Aye,” Nagh said. “Things could always be worse!”

“If I found one of those in an orc tribe, I — well, I don’t know what I’d do. Pretty sure it would demand war,” Tegh said awkwardly through his broken nose.

“Remember the first rule of conquest: kill the diplomats first and the lawyers second, before you do anything else!” Dider declared.