The Heavenly Host

“Yes, but D’Orcs do, and I do, sort of.” Tom gestured to his belt and kilt combination. “I probably should get some new clothes at some point as well.”

“I think my mom had some of your old clothes adjusted to fit you!” Fer-Rog said.

“What old clothes?” Tom asked, puzzled.

“Are you saying you never looked in the closets and wardrobes in your suite?” Fer-Rog asked mischievously.

“Clearly, I did not.” Tom admitted shaking his head with a smile.

∼

Hilda set down her glass of barely palatable wine and smiled at Teragdor on the other side of the small table in their room. It was not much of a room. Two narrow beds, a small table, a chest and a single chair in a room about eight feet per side. Trisfelt’s camp in the woods had been far more comfortable, and the wine and food had been several magnitudes better.

However, she did have to admit she found Teragdor to be interesting company. They had finally convinced him of who they were and had him recite everything he had seen and learned from yesterday. Hilda had also been quite curious on his own background and dug a little bit there. Only enough to be polite, though; she would have loved to know more about someone with such a different background, but that would be rude and ungracious on a first conversation.

“So, I am thinking we might want to go out to this ‘wargtown’ place you mentioned. They seemed to have the best view and some of the longest interactions,” Hilda said.

“Uhm, I suppose. I did talk to them a bit, but did not want to appear too nosy. They are a rough lot,” Teragdor replied.

“As I would suspect, however, we have all been very impressed with your ministries to the various ‘rough lots’ in this part of the world and are confident that if you can guide us on the basics, we can take it from there,” Stevos told the priest.

“I can be very persuasive,” Hilda said.

Teragdor looked at her rather neutrally. “Okay.”

That caused Hilda to blink. Normally when she said that, beamed at someone and turned on the charm, they comfortably agreed. This could be interesting.

The three agents of Tiernon trudged down the dusty road to the Murgatroy wargtown. Hilda was once again grateful for her leather garb over her saint clothes. Everything about this place was dirt and dust. She had lived in a relatively small village; had it been this bad? She certainly did not remember it as such.

They were approaching the tents of the wargtown and already, before they had even arrived, were getting some very hostile stares from the occupants. Hilda glanced at the very large, very heavily armed orcs inside the tents and pavilions. Her attention was quickly drawn to the huge, slavering wolf-like beasts — wargs, she realized they were — which seemed eager to eat anything or anyone. Their multi-colored, bright eyes glared malevolently at the three of them.

“So you said the winged wargs were bigger and meaner than these?” Hilda asked Teragdor.

“At least half again larger. Scarred with bigger teeth, huge claws. Completely monstrous,” the priest replied, causing Hilda to grimace.

“Last time I saw wargs, they were chasing me,” Stevos said quietly.

“Was that the cause of your canonization?” Hilda asked.

“No, not that time. I got away. It did add to my legend, though.” Stevos chuckled.

“Is Meat Maker present?” Teragdor asked loudly at what appeared to be the main avenue of the town.

Looking at the unsavory occupants, Hilda crossed her arms inside her large sleeves, where she could make some semantic gestures while whispering some rituals for speed, dexterity and strength. Given what she knew of orcs, all from tales, she suspected physical confrontation and a show of strength might be necessary.

After a few minutes of rustling and loud whispers inside the suddenly quiet town, a very large, very old and scarred orc shoved his way forward. Beside him was an even older, more scarred, one-eyed orc. Both were more than a bit intimidating.

“Who seeks Meat Maker?” Meat Maker asked ominously.

“Master of Wargtown, I am Teragdor, priest of Tiernon,” Teragdor stated firmly.

“I am aware of you, failed orc,” Meat Maker said.

“I am not a failed orc. I am a priest of Tiernon,” Teragdor said firmly.

The one-eyed orc rolled his single eye in exasperation.

“You are but half an orc, and chose not to follow in your father’s path. How is that not a failure?” Meat Maker asked.

“Success is judged on many levels. We will simply have to disagree. I want no argument.” Teragdor bowed his head slightly in respect.

Meat Maker shook his head and started to leave.

“Master of Wargtown, I have matters I would discuss with you,” Teragdor said.

Hilda was continuing to prepare. This was not going that well, just as she had feared.

“I have nothing to say to you, failed orc,” Meat Maker said.

These orcs were far more articulate than Hilda had expected. Suddenly she remembered that she was speaking universal and that Teragdor and Meat Maker were speaking orcish. That was a real problem with universal; it was always hard to know what language you were speaking.