Random Encounters: Orc Chief

Chapter 1: Doldrums and Wardrums

The Broken Pony was as busy as usual this evening. The tavern was dim, lit only by a few table lanterns and a hearth well in need of repair. The floors were sticky with cheap ale, spilled by drunk and rowdy patrons. The windows were so badly stained from the persistent cloud of tobacco smoke that it was nearly impossible for any moonlight to creep through. The one good thing about the ever-present smell of tobacco and booze was that it masked the much more unpleasant odors coming from the nearby stables and, far worse, the customers.

Most patrons were content to gamble or share stories, but few were engaged in a brawl that was making its way through the tavern. Most people just moved and carried on their conversation as they thrashed through, sometimes shouting a word of encouragement to whoever was losing. No one was going to stop them lest they get pulled into it. Plus, the bard was off this evening, so this was the only entertainment.

"Girl! Give this round to the table over there," shouted Pascher, pointing across the tavern.

"Right away," replied Giroflée. She looked at the mugs. "They're half empty."

"Yeah! No need to waste full bodied ale on city elves. Fill 'em up the rest of the way from the rain barrel out back."

"But last time-"

"Last time was your fault. Now hurry, there are three more orders to get out!" He was perfectly capable of dishing out the orders but was too busy bragging about his successful tavern to a traveling merchant sitting at the bar.

Before Giroflée could give a half-hearted affirmation, he'd already turned his back to her. She looked over to the table of elves who were already eyeing her suspiciously. She gave a nervous smile and slipped into the backroom, making her way through the steamy kitchen, and out the back. The rain barrel was next to the stables and was currently in use by a horse someone had neglected to hitch.

"Uh, shoo, p-please," she said with the accompanying gesture.

The horse gave her a quick look before returning to its drink.

She groaned and cautiously approached it, grabbing the wooden cup hanging off the side of the barrel. She took a few scoops of water and poured each one into the flagons of ale until they came up to the top.

Her long green overdress and white apron was already covered in tavern muck but was now taking on what she hoped was mud. Her shoes, so generously provided to her by the apparently widely successful Mr. Pascher, were nearly rotted through. Her chestnut hair was a tangled mess of sweat, and all manner of things spilled in a tavern.

"Hey- hic- cutie."

She jumped, spilling one of the glasses.

"Oh gods, Saleté! I told you not to sneak up on me!" she said, holding her chest and propping herself against the rain barrel.

"Hehe, I know. So what brings you to my stables? Lookin' for a roll in the hay?" He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close.

"Oh you stink! And not just of stable. Gods, what is that?"

He stood back and swayed with a drunken smile. "Ran into some Damesdures hunters the other day. Managed to trade with the savages. A few 'missing' horses for a few skins of khormog." He grabbed a waterskin from under his dirty shirt and pushed it against her chest. "It's fermented reindeer milk. Smells like shit but packs a punch."

"Ew, gods, no thank you!" she said, pushing back to him.

"Aww common, have a sip and we'll have a little tussle," he said with an attempted wink that was just a blink.

"I can't right now, I'm working and you already made me spill a drink."

"Aww common." He went to sling his arm around her but missed and side-hugged the rain barrel instead. The horse was mildly annoyed.