Dirty Rotten Magic

As a guest, I was lucky to be able to merely watch the cleanup of the battle from the sidelines. I certainly didn't want to be involved in the grim process, especially as my stomach was still adjusting to this brutal world and its raw, barbaric customs. The air itself seemed to carry the metallic tang of blood mixed with the pungent aroma of burnt wood and sweat, making every breath a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

Once on Earth, I had broken into an abattoir in search of some meat to eat. That had been a nightmare for a young boy, to witness the hanging carcasses of cows swaying gently in the stale, cold air and to behold the grim tubs filled with who-knew-what, their contents exuding a nauseating blend of decay and chemicals. This was infinitely worse. The smells and sights were still very fresh and highly unenjoyable, as if the very earth had absorbed the remnants of violence and despair, painting the landscape with a tapestry of horror and loss.

One of the first things I did after the battle was to weave magic around me to clean up the bloody mess that now marred my clothes. The magic shimmered with a delicate iridescence as it swept away clots of dried blood and splatters of gore, restoring a semblance of order to my attire. I had offered this service to the members of my squad, but all of them had refused; tonight, they desired to wear their battle scars like badges of honor. They looked quite the sight with all the crimson stains staining their rough-hewn armor and dents marking their battered bodies, each mark telling a tale of survival. For me, I thought that it was not the best look, but they seemed to believe it would work for them. From the way the men's eyes lingered on their companions—each scar and dent proudly displayed—it was clear that this rugged display of ferocity garnered their admiration.

The cleanup itself was as meticulously organized as the battle had been chaotic. To gain access to the mountain pass below, I noticed that several stone doorways were ajar at the bottom of the imposing wall. At first, these openings had served as exits for agile scouts, whose swift, silent departures ensured that no significant number of creatures lingered in the pass after the overwhelming wave of monsters had been vanquished. This careful measure allowed the orcs to work in relative peace, methodically clearing the dead bodies, each one a stark reminder of the carnage that had taken place.

Following the scouts who dashed into the dense, shadowy forest, a large column of female orc warriors, their powerful forms accentuated by the glint of their polished spears, and a few sturdy males, marched forth with determined strides. Their shields clanged against one another in rhythmic cadence as they advanced amid bursts of raucous shouts and good-natured teasing aimed at the less experienced males, whose eyes still held the unspoken fear of bloodshed. Together, they formed a formidable shield wall at the base of the wall, their presence exuding an aura of relentless purpose.

Advancing in a tight line three orcs deep, they moved forward at a steady, deliberate pace, the sound of a resonant drumbeat echoing through the crisp air, its pulse synchronizing with their heavy footfalls. To ensure that every fallen enemy was truly dead, the orcs performed a macabre ritual, methodically placing a spear into each body—a grotesque punctuation to the violence of the day. When this grim procession concluded at the forest's edge, they locked their shields together once more, creating another, even more impregnable wall against the darkness.

Once the wall was firmly in place, the true cleanup began. Hundreds of orcs set about clearing the battlefield of the attackers' bodies, their actions precise and mechanical like the gears of a well-oiled machine. They employed large, creaking carts and intricate block and tackle systems to hoist the chopped-up remains of carcasses, their movements accompanied by the harsh sounds of metal scraping against stone and the soft, resigned murmurs of laborers hardened by years of bloodshed. At times, the grisly spectacle of battleaxes and saws tearing through flesh and bone was so overwhelming that I had to avert my eyes, the vivid imagery of splattered blood and dismembered limbs etching itself uncomfortably into my memory. Yet even in this grim task, there was an unyielding efficiency born of countless repetitions.

"We use every part of the bodies," said the sergeant from nearby, her tone both matter-of-fact and laced with a hint of grim satisfaction as she observed the work with keen interest.

"Charming," I replied dryly, my voice betraying both irony and a trace of unease.

"It is the only way we have survived for so long, now that the kingdoms to the north are not fulfilling their obligations," she commented, her eyes narrowing as she recalled past hardships.

"What do you do with all the 'parts?'" I inquired, watching a large, oddly shaped shell being maneuvered through a jagged hole in the wall. It had an otherworldly appearance, as if it might someday be transformed into a sturdy boat, and my curiosity was piqued by its potential.

"Most of the meat will be put to use within the empire. The less perishable items will be traded for money and weapons for use at the wall," she explained, her words as pragmatic as the stark efficiency of the process around us.

For the rest of the afternoon, primarily by myself, I observed as the battlefield was completely cleared. Amid the relentless motion, I noted that the male and female orcs began intermixing more freely, their interactions a blend of rugged camaraderie and an unusual, almost tender form of flirting—at least, that is the orcs' version of it, considerably rougher than what one might expect from humans. Their banter was punctuated by boisterous laughter and subtle gestures, creating a curious juxtaposition of tenderness and ferocity amidst the lingering scent of iron and smoke.

Yotul, the orc chancellor, eventually approached me as dusk began to settle, the light softening the sharp edges of the day's chaos. "The reports coming in say that you did well in the battle," she said, her voice a mix of respect and measured warmth.

"Nearly got myself killed again, if that's what you mean by doing well," I replied, the adrenaline still mingling with the lingering taste of fear on my tongue.

"You did put yourself in danger for one of our soldiers. That counts for a lot here. If only you were an orc, you could find yourself a wonderful wife tonight!" she said with a playful smile, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

I glanced around at the scene unfolding around us—the mingling of male and female orcs in boisterous celebration—and asked, "What is it about today? It seems as if this incident was some kind of speed-dating event between the two armies."

"That's exactly what it is," she replied with a knowing smile, her tone light yet imbued with tradition. "Both of the armies are about to finish their required service—the females defending the wall and the males defending the rest of the empire. At the end of their service, the meeting is a proven tradition that works and seems to be appreciated by both sides. That's why the empress and the chief coordinate their service periods to end together. The big battle today was just a lucky bonus so they could see each other in action."

"Orcs are very practical about choosing a mate," she continued, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial murmur as she explained how both sides are irresistibly drawn to each other's battle prowess. "For the next few days, there will be many commitments made to the goddess of nature, and another orc generation will be born within the year."

I surveyed the lively courting scene—the rough hands clasping, playful nudges, and earnest glances exchanged amidst the lingering scent of sweat and anticipation—and mused that it wasn't particularly romantic by human standards, yet the happy smiles on the orcs' faces spoke of a deep, communal joy. It appeared to be working for them.

"As you're one of the only males in the army who is not going to be busy tonight, the empress wants to talk with you about your plans for helping us with the kingdoms to the north," she said, her tone shifting to one of all-consuming seriousness.

"More like an idea than an actual plan," I replied with a confident smile, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest, "but it should work if I keep my wits about me."

Always look more confident than you actually are, I reminded myself silently.

She indicated for me to follow her across the top of the wall, her gesture both graceful and commanding. As we passed clusters of troops gathering in animated clusters, I saw large circles drawn on the rough stone floor with chalk, their lines imperfect yet charged with symbolic significance. I looked at my guide with a questioning brow.

"Ritual combat," she explained, her voice soft but filled with pride. "It's another part of our courting tradition. There will be many circles drawn tonight and many challenges. You might want to watch some of the matches after we've finished talking, as it will be very educational."

We approached a colossal stone block that served as a doorway to the citadel, its ancient surface scarred by the passage of time and recent conflict. Although people were moving off the wall in small, hurried groups, I could see that the guards remained alert for any more trouble emerging from the mountain pass. When we entered the citadel, we moved quickly through a corridor filled with orcs meticulously storing away items recovered from the battle. The scent of charred meat and aromatic spices mingled in the air, a stark reminder of the earlier comment that there was enough meat for everybody. Even in this courtyard, where the smell of carcasses cooking on open fires mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly crushed chalk, fierce but unarmed combat continued in the drawn circles between male and female orcs.

As I passed by the chaotic yet ritualistic matches, I couldn't help but remark in wonder to the chancellor, "I thought that you said this was a courting ritual, not combat to the death."

"It is, but nobody wants a weak partner," she replied with a mischievous smile, her tone both teasing and serious. "It's not as if they're really trying to kill each other. If they were, there would be weapons involved."

We soon left the heavy, guttural sounds of clashing grunts and fervent struggles behind as we ascended into a guarded tower. This time the entrance demanded more than a simple password; an intricate magical emblem, shimmering with an ethereal glow, was employed by the chancellor to gain access. The air around it crackled with a subtle energy that was both mesmerizing and intimidating.

When I saw the emblem, I remarked, "I haven't seen the orcs use magic much, except for healing."

The chancellor's expression softened slightly with embarrassment. "Well, it's an unfortunate part of our society that book learning is looked down upon. The empress has been trying to change that, but it's complicated. Tonight is a prime example, as the poor, brave women who are healers will have a hard time competing for a mate. This is something we want to change, as we certainly need more magicians, and it's just unfair on them for all the work they do."

I wondered silently if I could someday help with that, once my own knowledge of magic grew.

When we finally entered the tall tower, I found myself in a grand hall adorned with battle trophies that celebrated years of guarding the pass. It was as if the severed heads of monstrous foes, mounted on walls like grim portraits, glared down at me with silent disdain. In the far end of the hall, a massive fireplace roared with life as a fresh monster carcass slowly revolved on a spit, its skin crackling and releasing a sizzling sound that mingled with the aroma of roasting flesh. The chief of the orc nation stood nearby, winding the spit with deliberate care while his eyes sparkled as he glanced at his wife, who was authoritatively directing a group of younger orc women. They moved with coordinated precision, rearranging heavy wooden tables and setting up the grand feast. For the first time since my arrival in the citadel, I noticed younger orc girls mingling among the seasoned warriors, their presence both innocent and enigmatic, the youngest appearing as little more than a child amidst the battle-hardened figures.

"My daughters," proclaimed the empress with the proud, resonant tone of a devoted parent, "my six wonderful girls who are definitely not going out tonight, as they need to finish their army service before they find a husband."

The eldest of the daughters, whose features bore a striking resemblance to the battle-worn warriors on the wall, looked at her mother with a mixture of embarrassment and longing. "Don't be silly, Mother. I just want to see what happens with my friends and make sure they can get the partners they want."

"I'm sure they will be fine by themselves, dear," the empress said sternly, her voice firm yet laced with warmth.

The older daughter was about to retort when a single, disapproving glance from the empress silenced her. In that charged moment, she then shot her father a pleading look, who responded with a steely gaze directed at his wife—as if silently conveying, "Don't make me a part of this."

As this byplay unfolded, some of the other imperial daughters carefully spread vibrant cloths across the tables and began to arrange outboards laden with round bread loaves, their hands deft and assured. I noticed that they were all armed, each one bearing the unmistakable marks of a seasoned warrior, much like all the other orcs I had encountered that day.

The empress then fixed her gaze upon me and said, "I heard that you did well on the wall today. We seem to be getting further into your debt."

"That's fine," I replied, my voice calm despite the whirlwind of events around us.

She moved closer, beckoning me to sit at one of the long, sturdy tables as her daughters continued their busy preparations. It was evident that the affairs of the empire were conducted with a practical efficiency rather than the pomp of ceremonial grandeur. Leaning in with intensity, the empress continued, "I'm really interested in how you plan to get the rest of the money from the dishonorable kingdoms to the north."

"It's more of an aspiration than a firm plan at the moment," I admitted with a confident smile, my words carrying both ambition and a trace of mischief, "but if I know anything about humans, it's that they're greedy. That's my way in to get the money. To get what's yours will require a lot of stealing or gambling—or whatever works. In some ways, I'll be making it up as I go along."

The empress frowned for a moment before asking, "Nothing dishonorable, though?"

"Depends on if you mean collecting money that is owed to you is dishonorable," I observed with a cheeky, knowing smile that reflected the complex morality of our world.

"Good point. But what do you get out of this whole enterprise?" she asked, her intense eyes searching mine with a blend of skepticism and genuine curiosity.

"From what I understand," I explained slowly, "it's a place to live that is not full of the monsters like we fought today. Also, there's a certain satisfaction in getting one over on the people who once put me in a difficult position." I sighed, the weight of my confession mingling with relief, "But to be honest with you, most of all—handling a lot of money means that some of it will stick to my hands like some sort of commission."

The empress's daughters looked visibly shocked at my candor, but both she and her husband erupted into hearty laughter. The chief clapped me on the back and said, "Well done, human—or whatever you are—for being honest with us. We were hoping you would be straightforward when dealing with us, as it is in our nature. It often gets us into trouble when trading with the kingdoms to the north."

"Just make sure that you get the money we require to do our duty," the empress interjected with steely seriousness, "and maybe not bankrupt the northern kingdom either. We can all live with that, as the alternative is not good. Of course, you are not our only method of extracting payment. If you fail, we will raid some of the towns, as we usually do, to reclaim what is owed."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to stop," I grinned, my tone light despite the gravity of the conversation. "It's best for everybody that the money is handed over peacefully. Of course, when I say 'handed over,' it might be more accurate to call it an 'unauthorized acquisition.'"

"One more thing," the empress added, her expression turning thoughtful, "the kingdoms to the north seem to get us to target some of the towns for raids. I think there's more going on than just us raiding them for money. It may be that we are being used to punish some of the towns or nobles who have fallen out of favor with the throne."

The chief grunted in agreement, "We just need the money, and I, for one, don't care about their internal politics."

The empress shook her head, her tone softening with concern, "My husband can be a bit blunt, but if we are being used as a weapon, I want to know how to put a stop to it."

I nodded in solemn agreement and accepted the quest from the empress with a silent promise to navigate these murky waters as best I could.

With the serious discussion winding down, the conversation shifted to the evening's entertainment. Tonight was a significant event in the lives of the orcs, and the empress desired everything to be perfect. The daughters took directions from their mother with precise, almost ritualistic efficiency, finishing the setup of the grand hall for the feast. During this time, I discussed some of my ideas with both the chief and the empress. They even offered to aid me through their embassies in the kingdoms to the north, a gesture that hinted at alliances forged in both strategy and mutual need.

The last detail of aid surprised me when they said, "If you need to get the gold or money back to us, just hand it to any orc, and they will bring it to the empire."

"Are you sure that I can trust any orc with it?" I asked doubtfully, my voice echoing slightly in the vast hall.

They both laughed heartily and nodded, though their daughters looked on with wide, incredulous eyes. The chief declared with firm assurance, "No orc would betray the wall. We all know what would befall the nations if it fell. All you have to say to any orc, no matter how unsavory, is that it's for the wall and the empress. They will get it to us even if it costs their life."

Everybody in the room nodded in unison, their eyes shining with an immense pride and an unspoken vow of loyalty—a vow as solid and enduring as the ancient stones of the citadel.

--

I had just finished a meal with the nobles of the orc empire—a gathering that felt more like a sprawling, boisterous family dinner than a formal feast. The long, heavy wooden table groaned under platters piled high with steaming, spiced meats, and the air was thick with the savory aroma of roasting flesh and the sharp tang of herbs. Even in the imposing presence of the empress, the orcs played rough, their laughter booming like distant thunder and their hands clapping in hearty approval. Every so often, a skirmish would erupt between the tables, the sound of fists striking flesh and the clash of bodies mingling with the rhythmic drumming of sturdy feet on stone, as if punctuating the night with bursts of raw, unrefined celebration. Most of these brawls were not mindless violence but ritualized bouts—a vigorous courting between males and females, a test of strength and spirit.

Throughout the night, I couldn't help but notice the oldest of the empress's daughters. Her eyes, deep and wistful, often flickered with envy as she watched the lively exchanges. Yet her mother's steely gaze—a silent, commanding presence—kept her emotions in check, like a stern yet caring guardian. As the evening deepened, I found myself drifting away into the cool night air of the courtyard. The outdoor space was alive with movement and sound: the rhythmic thuds of bare feet on cobblestones, the echoes of laughter, and the occasional resounding crash of a body meeting another in combat. Here, amidst clusters of combatants engaged in earnest, almost desperate struggles, I gained an intimate understanding of just how boisterous and unrestrained a night among the orcs' two courting armies could truly be.

I was particularly grateful that the wall's citadels had no alcohol available, for the absence of potent brews kept the fervor from tipping into chaos. Around me, drawn chalk circles—vivid white against the earthen floor—served as arenas where couples fought as if their very lives depended on victory. As the chancellor had remarked earlier, these contests were nothing short of an education in unarmed combat. Every twist, every grappling move, was a display of raw power and cunning. The maneuvers, some wildly unconventional and likely to be scorned in any Earthly wrestling match, were met with raucous cheers from the sidelines. The shouts and claps of approval, punctuated by the occasional roar, created a symphony of ferocity and admiration.

At the same time, every orc seemed to be feasting heartily on succulent cuts of meat taken from the giant roasting monsters—a spectacle in itself, as the sizzling aroma of fat and charred skin mingled with the smoky haze rising from enormous spits. After wandering through the citadel hall in search of some gambling—a pastime that usually promised a thrill—I felt a pang of disappointment when I discovered that my usual gambling companions had other plans for the evening. Their absence left a hollow note in the otherwise jubilant atmosphere.

In one of the courtyards, my eyes were drawn to the familiar figure of the sergeant with whom I had once fought side by side. There she was, fiercely engaged in one of the fighting circles, her eyes alight with determination as she dueled a larger orc—a veteran who had once taught me the art of ax combat. Drawn by a mix of curiosity and respect, I approached quietly to watch the contest. The two warriors grappled with a raw intensity, their sinewy muscles rippling under taut skin as they wrestled for dominance. The grunts of exertion, the slap of skin against skin, and the clatter of feet on rough stone filled the air, creating a visceral tableau of primal struggle. Eventually, a group of exuberant spectators intervened, pulling the combatants apart as they continued to shout and cheer, their voices celebrating the parity of strength as if being evenly matched were the highest honor.

The last glimpse I had of that night was of the two great warriors, now united, walking away together in each other's arms—a quiet moment of tender victory amid the relentless display of strength. I couldn't help but muse that this strange custom, this blend of conflict and courtship, must work marvelously for them. If finding happiness together through such fierce, passionate encounters brought them joy, then all the better for them.