The Orcish Horde 1 — Another Stranger in Town

Posted by Scourge on February 1, 2010

While Harlon munched on the dumplings and ignored the chattering of the missus, his brain was busy. The flamboyant man with the orc was a stranger… with money…  Harlon had to find a way to turn this to his advantage. His eyes strayed to the window. Colorful nut. Battle orc. Easily upset. Profit.

Harlon was good at what he did. It helped that the real King’s Own Guard was mostly ineffectual, rampantly corrupt and not very willing to help out anyone south of the river. He always thought focusing on quantity over quality of clients was a wise business decision. For every unwelcome crowd he moved along, for every cheater he trounced, for every object he returned to its rightful (or more convincing) owner, he earned just enough to keep the missus in the manner to which she had been accustomed.

“… and please don’t forget to polish your boots, Harl.”  The missus’s voice broke in to his thoughts and he shifted his gaze toward her.

Mouth full of cabbage, he frowned. “Wha’ was dat?”

“Oh Harl! Manners!”  The magpie in the cage repeated the scold. “Manners!” it squawked, and fixed him with a beady eye.

He swallowed. “What was that about my boots?”

Her frown deepened. “Weren’t you listening?”

“Lots on my mind. New clients to consider.” He tried sounding brusk, but she just shook her head, her lips pressed together.  “Sorry,” he muttered, and turned back to his plate.

“I said,” she crowed, “we are going to dinner at Lord and Lady Micdavver tomorrow night. Don’t forget to polish your boots!”

“Oh, oh… sure. Unless there’s work. Have to be a good provider.” He waved his fork at the plate.

It worked, just like it usually worked. He remembered being a rough young lad of seventeen, sitting uncomfortably on a peach silk sofa in his wife’s childhood home. She sat next to him, straight as a poker and almost bouncing with delight, as her father announced they were to marry. “He’ll be a good provider,” her father had said, and she had clung to that for all these years.

His mind slunk back into its figuring as she rattled on about the MicDavver’s new cook and what delicacies they were sure to enjoy. Harlon pushed the last bit of cabbage around his plate and glanced back toward the window. The magpie was watching him again. It opened its beak and then clacked it shut. Harlon sighed. It didn’t need to say anything for Harlon to know what it was thinking.

The MicDavver’s could whip up the most scrumptuous delicacies every imagined.  He wouldn’t be there to enjoy them. The rainbow-hued man and his orc were the start of something big. Harlon could tell. He could feel it. While the missus made his apologies, he would be searching for his windfall.