'A Tales of Empty Cities'

A Flintloque Short Story by Michael White

After the Mordredian Wars an Albion Orc, Ferach Elf, and Joccian Rat meet in a gritty tavern to discuss the sale of a map. But a map to where...

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Nigel Willorc clawed for the roll of parchment only to have it swiftly pulled from his reach. A scowl twisted his ruddy, scarred face. He had risked a lengthy trip and had paid a steep price just to get his hands on that damned scrap of paper. Now some soldier-turned-beggar was going to make it more difficult. His greed filled eyes darted back to the unkempt Ferach Elf sitting across from him. A tense moment passed, and Elven hands gracefully stowed the coveted parchment beneath a filthy, gray greatcoat before the Elf spoke.

"A drink, no?" His Ferach accent was thick, and his breath carried the scent of rum. There was no hint of tension or fear in his voice. Nigel snorted and gave a nod to the Lowland Rat sitting beside him. The Joccian stood slowly, staring contemptuously for a moment before moving toward the bar of the Titless Cow. Nigel briefly watched his gray-furred comrade manoeuvre through the gaggle of drunken and often limbless or scarred veterans of the Mordredian Wars. Refuse, thought Nigel. They were just castoffs of a never-ending conflict and could not even hope to be thanked for the weeks arduous road marches that resulted only with their bodies twisted and minds tortured. The place stank of piss, smoke, and liquor. The atmosphere was conjuring up unpleasant memories better left undisturbed. Snapping his head back to the Elf, Nigel thrust his jaw forward to show more of his Orcish tusks. He wanted to be done with this business and out of this dreadful inn.

"Listen up, mate. You're two damned weeks late and I's been stuck in this dung hole of a town for that time waitin' for your arse to show. I's already paid too much for that bloody map you've there." His knuckles crunched as he made a fist. "And my patience is already worn quite thin."

Th Elf laid his hands upon the table. "Yet, Nigel," he slurred, "you are willing to pay too much for it, no? You sink zere is somesing zere to pay such a price."

Nigel's first inclination was to pummel the Ferach's face into the vomit encrusted floor. He looked at the Elf’s hands, remembering how quickly the ex-soldier hid the map in his tattered coat. Now he wondered how fast the Elf could draw a hidden pistol or knife. The Ferach of Armorica were well known to be expert duellists and the finest marksmen in all of Drop. Not only that, he had personally seen how quickly this Elf could load and shoot his Ferach-made pistol. Drunk or not, he was still dangerous. Nigel sighed, and against all his Orcish impulses, begrudgingly decided upon diplomacy.

"We agreed to a price, Arnaud."

"Oui, Nigel. We did indeed. But zese are uncertain times, yes?" He began counting on his fingers. "Grain, cattle, your rum ... all ... up, up, up." He accentuated the last words by jerking his thumb upward. "Zee war has made sem scarce, no? More price, eh. And today, zee price has made more to one drink."

"Well," said Nigel, "by the looks of it, you've 'ad too much to drink as 'tis."

A mug of ale slammed down in front of Arnaud, spilling some of the drink onto the table. The Elf looked up at the glaring Joccian, and Arnaud's eyes widened as he noticed the green and red kilt the creature was wearing. He then looked around at the patrons of the bar and screwed his face up.

"Well, my friend, you are zee closest sing to a woman 'ere. But alas, for you, I am not yet zat drunk."

The Rat's tail stood up past his head and fluttered spasmodically.

"Aye," the Joccian shot back.

"And ye are the closest bluidy thing ta bein' dead."

Nigel raised a dismissive hand.

"Shut yer bleedin' trap, Ian. And keep that damned tail still before I haves it for supper!"

Grinning, the Orc tossed a leather pouch upon the oaken table. It landed with a distinctive clink of gold. "Right, Arnaud. You've 'ad you bloody drink and there's yer gold. You've the map or not?"

Arnaud smiled sardonically at Nigel. Reaching into his coat, the Elf produced both the map and a pistol. "One more price, Nigel. I'm going back to Vilnau wis you."

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Webmaster's Notes

'A Tale of Empty Cities' was first published in 60 Bloody Rounds Issue 0 on the 4th January 2008 and is included with kind permission from the author. It was later reprinted in 60 Bloody Rounds Issue 1 on the 29th March 2008. 

It was first published on Orcs in the Webbe on the 2nd December 2024 as the second entry in that year's Advent Calendar.

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