Open Chronicles A Massive F*cking Party

[Christian Albrecht]

Somewhere In the Middle of the Steppes

There was really no other way to put it.

There was also no real way to explain to Azula Tamiko how all of it had been achieved in the time she had been gone.

It seemed that in the short while of sending her urgent message, that the entirety of the inner-encampment had been turned into a massive celebration. Barrels of wine, beer, liquor, and whatever else had been found. Food meant for weeks from now was being cooked up in great stalls and upon massive fires. Men and women lay and sat carousing, some more liberal with their lips than others.

Dozens of musicians played all throughout the tent city that had suddenly sprang up. Some offering jaunty tunes while others quickly streamed words together in a fashion that some might call 'hopping'. All around the place, as Azula walked, she would find different kinds of celebrations as the cultures of the Canal workers streamed out.

Given permission to let loose, everything from Gnoll's to Centaurs threw their own little sub-parties, leading to a great cacophonous roar.

And at the center of it all?

There stood Christian Albrecht, perched upon two tables stacked upon one another. His tightly buttoned shirt had been torn open, a mug of what one hoped to be ale but might have been rum was in his hand. A roar of power escaped his throat as he brought the mug to his lips, and all around him the celebrants broke out into a loud cheer. "HE MIGHT FALL OFF AND DIE!"

Someone whisper-shouted excitedly besides Azula.

 

[Bruk]

Bruk had woken up in a tent.

This was quite unusual, as there was no tent when the orc had gone to sleep.

However, there had been a large rock that he had decided was a perfectly excellent substitute for a pillow, and it was still there, clutched like a stray cat in a toddler's death grip as his beady eyes opened to the sound of festivities.

Was it madness? Perhaps in a fugue state, he had acquired a tent, pitched it and gone to sleep like an ordinary person. That theory had many holes; the most gaping one was that Bruk routinely lay down wherever he was when the sandman visited. Inside caves, under trees, inside bushes. He'd been trodden on by horses too many times from napping in the middle of the road.

Instead, he believed that the tent was a gift from Nature herself, who had given her chosen guardian shelter.

Once his brain caught up with his body, Bruk rose from his slumber, the outside merriment filling his soft heart with glee at the thought of so many new potential friends. He trundled over to the opening of his tent and promptly shoved his head out like a terrifying green demon being birthed.

"HELLO, FRENDZ!" Bruk's head boomed at a passing of men, who staggered past at the wrong moment, entwined in each other arms like ferrets in heat.

One of the men shrieked, leaping up into the air in what was, quite frankly, an impressive display of terrified athleticism. Without so much as a word, the startled human sprinted in the opposite direction, abandoning his companion with a very brave squeak.

"Well," the other man began before placing his hands on his hips and releasing a great sigh, "there goes my date."

"OH. BRUK SORRY 'BOUT DAT," he shouted forlornly, displaying his total lack of volume control, "BRUK CAN BE DATE IF YOU WANTIN'?"

"I..."

The man raised an eyebrow and surveyed the large, misshapen green head that had thwarted his plans for a quick dalliance before shaking his head, "No."

Such rejection caused Bruk's prominent lower jaw to tremble, making him seem less like a bloodthirsty barbarian and more like an abandoned bulldog one day off euthanisation. Miraculously, he found his heartstrings being tugged at by the fingers of pity.

"But I tell you what. Bruk, is it? Have you ever played dice?"

 

[Azula]

Azula's hand snapped out to grab the man who had spoken by the throat, lifting him far enough off the ground that his feet kicked.

"If he dies because of this madness, I will find you and I will kill you," she said with lethal calm and then threw him to the side like yesterdays stale dinner. She didn't even bother to look where he landed as she prowled on towards her charge who was currently playing a game of risk with the Goddess of Death. She could feel the dark mistress grinning, waiting, for that oaf to make a wrong step. Sensing the General's mood several people wisely made way and the cheering died down.

"Stop this foolishness right now and get down."

 

[Christian Albrecht]

Christian had never been an overly impressive drinker. A glass or two of wine every other third year, and those nights tended to get wild in their own sort of way.

Thus, drinking the mug of rumale was probably more than the Architect should have had. "Miss Tamiko!"

He called as he swayed atop the table, shifting back and forth as his legs shook from the strain of balancing on the flimsy sheet of wood. One foot kicking up as he did his best to get down...only for the table to suddenly fall forward.

Christian went crashing to the ground. Landing with a thud in the dirt and sending a round of applause and cheer through the crowd.

Something the young man did not seem to notice as he immediately popped back up.

"You have made it!" He called, spitting out some dirt and grass. "Finally! Wonderful! You can relax!"

Christian immediately threw an arm around the taller woman. "Come come! Enjoy yourself! Have a drink! Play some games! Perhaps some Dice?"

He said, guiding her towards the crowd in a b-line.

 

[Bruk]

"NO! WAT IZ DICE AN' HOW DO BRUK PLAY?!" The orc inquired excitedly at crippling volume, emerging from the tent in all his burly green glory, clearly enamoured by the prospect of making a friend.

The man smiled, raising a hand to the brain-damaged lunk, "Ah! Come with me, and I'll show you," he offered, hand moving out for a gentleman's shake, which Bruk eagerly grabbed and shook with twin-handed enthusiasm, actively jerking the entire man's being, "yOu CaAaAaN," the orc finally stopped shaking him, "...call me Horace."

Managing to pry his hand from Bruk's grip, he began to walk, gesturing for his new excited friend to follow. An orc was certainly not a welcome sight for many here, but the man's gut instinct told him that this fellow was a different kettle of fish. A much stupider, more earnest kettle of fish and one that had robbed him of a cheeky shag but not any sort of immediate threat.

"IZ NICE TO MEAT HORACE!"

"Likewise, Bruk, likewise."

Before long, Horace had led Bruk to a small gathering of two humans and a gnoll sitting at a crate, who, upon catching sight of the imposing green beast, tilted their heads in unison and then slowly turned to target Horace with their inquisitive stares.

"...Hoooorace? Where's Lenard?" Asked one of the humans, a woman holding a shoe filled with ale; her tone seemed to imply shenanigans.

"Voiding his bowels somewhere, sadly," Horace responded with a wink before grandly gesturing to Bruk, "Everybody, this is Bruk," and from there, he gestured from the orc back to the group, "and Bruk, this is everybody."

"HELLO, EVERYBODY!" Bruk waved, ever the eager beaver, "BRUK IZ HERE TO PLAY DA DICE!"

"Best go over the rules first, eh?"

 

[Azula]

Finally?

And then it dawned on her. Why else - how else - could a party this size suddenly have taken shape if not for a certain someone cracking the whip?

"You..." Keiko landed on her shoulder and gave a shriek akin to the type of noise Azula was struggling not to make. As well as not to wrap her hands around his throat and throttle him. "You realise, it now looks as though we are celebrating the death of all those orcs earlier today?" her voice had that same lethal calm edge as it had earlier.

"You need to shut this all down now--" she stopped suddenly when she caught sight of Bruk and her hand went for the hilt of her sword.

 

[Christian Albrecht]

”What?!” Christian asked, incredulously, drunkenly. ”How dare you say such a thing!”

The Architect said, reprimanding his escort. ”A loss of life is never something to be celebrated! Though one could argue the continuation of the cycle of nature is a good thing and that the decay of ones body within the soi-”

For the next minute, Christian launched into a breathless and long rant about the nutrient contents of soil. Citing a a rather interesting paper that one of his companions had written about a necromantic farmer who utilized the undead as both a source of labor and manure for his fields.

A fantastic innovation which the Architect praised, though critiqued for it’s macabre nature.

”So you see Miss Tamiko, despite their valued contributed to the cycle of life we are most certainly not celebrating the death of-” He stopped, suddenly, as Miss Tamiko’s hand snapped to her sword.

His eyebrows rose, and then eyeline quickly flickered to follow Azula’s.

”Oh!” Christian said delightedly. ”Look! There’s an orc now! He seems a rather genial fellow! Perhaps we can ask him if he finds these celebrations offensive.”

The Architect declared, quickly beginning to strike out towards Bruk. A wide smile on his face.

 

[Bruk]

"The game's called Rojimba," the gnoll known as Diz began to explain, trying to find any sign of intelligent life within the orc's piggy little eyes. Why was one of them a luminescent shade of red? He wasn't as onboard with allowing strange, savage orcs into their circle, but the power of peer pressure was mighty.

"And all you gotta do is roll a perfect six."

"AN' WAT DAT?"

Horace took over, swiping a single dice from their crare and holding it up in front of Bruk, who attempted to muster all of his three brain cells to understand the game. After all, he didn't want to annoy his brand-new friends with his obnoxious lack of intelligence.

"This, my friend, is a dice. It's got six sides, and on each side is a number from one to six. Are you following, Bruk?"

"BRUK FINK SO."

"'Kay, so then all we do," Diz interjected, taking back the reigns of rule explaining and the single dice from Horace's fingers, "is take turns rollin' six dice an' hope that you roll one of each number," the gnoll followed up with a roll, the dice showing two ones, a three, a four, a five and a six.

"OooooOOAH! Du was dis close, Dizzy!" exclaimed the other man in a perplexing accent, raising his enormous jug of what was presumably grain alcohol in premature celebration.

"And...and! When you roll a perfect six, you have to shout Rojimba!"

"Yes, quite. Do you understand, Bruk?"

The orc stared at the dice, his bulldog expression lost to what was presumably at least one thought. A deep hum reverberated from his throat and down to his feet. Eventually, there came a slow nod, and Bruk opened his maw to clarify one single issue he held with the embarrassingly simple game:

"WAT IF NEVA ROLL PERFEC SIX?"

Could the game go on forever? What if they were trapped until the perfect six?!

He looked up, only to find all of his dice-throwing friends staring awkwardly behind Bruk, a blend of concern and anticipation mixed across the faces. The orc spun around, expecting some great terror to be at his back, but instead found a strange couple on the approach. One of them was even smiling! The other...uh...

...not so much?

"HELLO! IZ YOU HERE FOR YOJIMBO-"

"-Rojimba."

"ROJIMBO, FRENZ?"

 

[Azula]

Azula had a headache.

Never before becoming Christian's personal bodyguard had the disgraced General ever had a headache, even at her most prying times. She had thought for an Age that it was merely the benefit of one of her kind. Now, she thought with a sigh as she massaged her temples, she realised it was because she had gone so long without meeting someone as irritating as Master Albrecht. She wanted her bed. She wanted a bath. Her clothes were still splattered with the blood of orcs from their earlier encounter. In summary, she was the furthest from a mood to party as she could feasibly be.

Certainly with an orc sitting in their midst.

Keiko came to land upon her shoulder, the eagle giving a soft caw as she tucked her wings in to her side. Azula's eyes swept over those gathered and her hand did not ease from where it sat upon her hilt. From the beasts words it seemed he was not here to cause a fight, but orcs could lie. They enjoyed lying even. This could merely be a way to get her guard down.

"Party's over. Pack up."

 

[Christian Albrecht]

"NONSENSEEEEEEEEE!" Christian bellowed, the delay of his rumpint finally kicking in. His liver quietly screaming as it was introduced to a new substance for the very first time. Christian's ordinary boldness becoming a line in the distant past as he stepped by Azula.

Two hands adjusted his suit.

"Mr. Orc!" He had heard the creature use the word friend! This was an excellent sign, and a hope that it could be negotiated with. "It is a delight to have you here at our celebration. We are well ahead of schedule in our work and are simply attempting to show our thanks to the workers for that."

Christian spluttered out, not letting anyone get a word in edgewise as he offered a hand to Bruk. "You can understand that, of course?"

The Architect beamed, having clearly explained.

"Ah, and of course." He added. "I would love to play."

Gambling, after all, was the game of gentlemen.

 

[Bruk]

The others didn't need to be told twice, awkwardly pocketing their spoils from earlier games of Rojimba, staring into their drinks to avoid being pulled into the oncoming storm of uncomfortable second-hand cringe.

Bruk, meanwhile, attempted to exude a presentable energy towards the terse lady like a wholesome schoolboy standing at the front of the assembly, just in the body of a grizzled primal orc. He attempted a polite smile but ended up bearing teeth and tusks in what probably seemed like a threat.

The moment, mercifully, was interrupted by the smiling man, who was saying many words at a rate of knots. Bruk blinked in that sticky manner where his eyelids were not synchronised, like a sedated frog, before finally parsing that this man was a indeed...

...a new friend!

"BRUK NOT SURE DAT HE UNDASTAND!" The Orc bellowed, grabbing the man's offered hands with his great, green hams and shaking his entire being, "BUT BRUK ALWAYZ GOT DA TIME TO MAKE FRENZ!"

His mismatched beady eyes went from the man to his less-than-impressed companion, and he leaned into the suited gentleman, cupping a hand over his mouth as if to whisper.

"NOT KNOW IF WE SHUD PLAY. DA LADY FREN SEEM REAL MAAAAD." Bruk shouted quietly (perplexingly), perfectly audible to everybody in a twenty-foot radius.