Recent content by Lukrozub

After Syrenia entered behind the counter and further, the atmosphere of this establishment continued in its serenity, offering a warrior like this orc a measure of peace. There was the scent of his salty sweet potato soup beneath his nose, with its earthy onions and spring carrots, the savory...

Luk had tried to pronounce the woman’s name and felt proud that he wasn’t too far from the park anyway. Sir. Enia. Sir-Enia. “Sir…enia…” Was that it? He hoped so but onto business, as a merchant once said in expression. “Lukrozeb,” Lukrozeb said. “Can call Lukrozeb ‘Luk’ instead. It sound...

Speech was admittedly easier for this orc regarding singing something, whether lyrics already written or words more spontaneous when it came to these two women amid the other patrons. His performance was rewarded with applause, although he would look like someone who was just as lost on it as...

Syrenia... Luke measured the name amid the hostess, never mind his other patrons. The first, that man whose words were written with effort, no mistaking his person. Amid others, the two women, asking for apple spiced tea and water, quite simply. Less simply? That more portly man with his...

Strumming and plucking strings. Humming and whistling. Singing with lyrics amid throat-singing. Modulating pitch amid his performance, chanting from the recesses of his neck. He doubted that his contemporaries could understand his language, but he sang aloud anyway, listening to their...

A better writer than a speaker, at least. A poet? No, not really. But a lyricist and a musician both. Yet the orc’s fellow patron didn’t know those words that were written were not necessarily his own as he began to sing them low from the throat. He spoke in his own language; an orcish tongue...

The orc stopped playing his lute the moment the hostess set down that big bowl of soup. His fingers frozen on strings, he could only blink. He tilted his head, studying his served meal with both eyes peeled as though he was not looking at food but at treasure. The comment on his being small...

The scent of his lunch went his way, and he could already taste the notes of potatoes and the hints of onions. Food was much like music to him. Smell was like sound, taste was like the way an instrument permeated the brain, the art of cooking like plucking a lute’s string at heart. The orc...

In retrospect, had he misinterpreted words yet again? When she had said “don’t be concerned about taking one piece” he had presumed that to mean don’t just take one but please take three, by all means. Then again, language did so often get the better of him. Music, on the other hand, was a bit...

The orc stared carefully at the basket of bread, not in the way one searches for contamination or poisonous contraptions amid cuisine, but as someone who had never yet seen bread of cinnamon. Free. That meant something in a city with most folk working for currency, buying and selling with...

The door opened for its next patron. That made the second. This one was also tall. An orc. He stepped into the establishment with weapons and instrument, a mask with a skull image wrapped around the lower half of his face, from nose’s bridge to chin. His clothing was simple; worn pants and shirt...

He had heard of the settlement in the distance, west of the Spine, across a trident river and on the other side of another. An orcish stronghold, a city of foundation and advanced civilization, in comparison, and almost a juxtaposition of orcish culture and nature. A city of trade, populated by...