by E. M. Hardy
Table of Contents
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Becoming the Orc Chieftain
First Orcish Era: Book 01
by E.M. Hardy
Becoming the Orc Chieftain
Copyright © 2018 LitRPG Freaks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
Chapter 01
“Hey, Zeyah! Check this out!”
Isiah Hunter turned away from the so-called ‘antique’ daggers he was inspecting to find his friend Olivia gesturing wildly at him. He ignored some fat dude who bumped into him from behind, as he was decent enough to mumble an apology before hurrying away. Isiah matched it with a mumbled apology of his own as he looked around for the rest of his pals before squeezing through a small crowd—an older woman giving him the stink eye as he accidentally elbowed her bony ribs. One hasty “sorry” later, and he was off on his way.
Isiah soon reached Olivia, who was flanked by the rest of the squad. Bernabé stood right beside her, trying as nonchalantly as he could to match her pace and stick by her side. He was a nice enough guy, but it was obvious to everyone except him and Olivia that he was crushing on her big time. Hasan was busy stuffing his face, almost crying with delight as his shawarma dripped sauce all over the pavement. Abigail and Eddison were off to the side, arguing about something that Isiah stopped caring about a long, long time ago. Some couples display their affection by calling each other ridiculously cheesy pet names. Those two showed their affection by butting heads with one another, especially about politics and religion. This was one of those times where opposites do indeed attract.
“C’mere quick, Zeyah. Wouldn’t this look awesome on you?” Olivia chuckled as she tossed the pendant at him. “I think it matches your face perfectly.”
Isiah reacted quickly, catching the pendant in his fist. “What in the… ugh, a rat head?” He groaned as he turned over the pendant, scowling while doing so. “Yeah, it’s a rat head. Ha. Ha. Real funny, princess.” He knew he wasn’t the most handsome guy on the block, with his crooked nose and oddly-shaped chin, but he was man enough to not fret over it. Besides, Olivia was jesting in good nature—a far cry from the more pointed insults he got from his more malicious tormentors.
“Oh, lighten up, will you. It looks cool in a tribal sort of way. You don’t want it, give it here and I’ll buy it for myself.”
“Oh no, you don’t get to give something away and then get it back when you change your mind.”
“Who said I’m giving anything away?” said Olivia, smirking as she pointed to the vendor at her side.
“Why don’t you put it on and see if you like it?” cut in an amused voice, one that bordered on mockery.
Isiah glanced at the vendor, a shabbily-dressed man wearing an oversized hood that went over his face. He was definitely playing up the mysterious shopkeeper vibe, with his tattered robe and heavily-tattooed arms with outstretched hands that were no doubt expecting payment. All sorts of knickknacks littered the vendor’s table, from misshapen gemstones and jeweled amulets to gaudy bracelets and feathered dream-catchers. The vendor sat there silently, a leering smile plastered on the visible part of his face.
A-yup, good costume roleplaying, thought Isiah to himself. The guy was definitely hamming up the creepy vendor vibe. Isiah guessed it was effective since he found himself more and more intrigued about the rat-skull pendant in his hands.
“Who knows?” Bernabé quipped, sidling up beside Olivia. “It might be from some mysterious animal no one has ever heard of just yet. Or it might just be from a dead squirrel that got into an unlucky run-in with a speeding car. Yeah, my bet’s on unlucky squirrel… or stinky sewer rat fished out of a manhole or something.”
“Yuck,” Isiah spat squeamishly, wanting to smack the suck-up for siding with Olivia. The thing was that it did look kinda awesome. There was just something about the little bony thing that pulled at Isiah, something that made him really like it without knowing why. If it was indeed the skull from a dead rat, it was at least a cool-looking skull from what he hoped was a rat that did something cool while it was alive.
He didn’t even notice himself as he slipped the pendant over his head and around his neck. The skull settled on his chest, and he felt a warmth worm its way into the skin it touched—spreading out and around his body. He inhaled sharply in surprise, marveling at the sensation.
And then the skull crumbled.
It didn’t crack, didn’t break at the edge. He didn’t even touch the thing. No, it just crumbled into dust that floated away into the wind.
“Woah. That’s… that’s freaky.” Isiah turned around to ask the vendor about it, make some protests about a defective product, except he couldn’t find the vendor. An empty seat was all that remained where the robed man once sat. A chubby, bearded dude swung around a corner, wiping his hands on a wet wipe which he tossed into a nearby trash can.
“Ah! Potential customers! Welcome to Abe’s Stall of Mysterious Wonders! See anything you fine folks might like?”
Isiah stood slack-jawed, as did Olivia and Bernabé. Abigail and Eddison were still arguing in the corner, gathering a small crowd with their diatribes on the merits of American intervention in foreign conflicts. Hasan was also off in another world of his own, checking out more foods from the Turkish sections of the flea market.
“Um, where’s the other guy sitting here just a moment ago?”
The big, bearded man shot Isiah a puzzled expression, one eyebrow raised with mouth curved down into a frown. “Wait a sec. This stall is mine. I don’t have any assistants or anything, and I sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone get near my stuff. What did you say this guy looked like?”
Isiah turned to his companions, who shrugged their shoulders. He turned back to the fuming vendor, who was busy double-checking all his wares. “I… don’t really remember much. All I know is that he was dressed real creepy-like. I thought he was just wearing a costume, to drum up sales or something.” Isiah turned around and mumbled to himself, “worked well enough if you ask me.”
Olivia rolled her eyes and stepped up, shoving Isiah aside. “Male, middle-aged, with a thin build. He wore this really beat-up robe with a hood pulled up over his head, had tattoos over his arms.” She was always the smartest one in the group, and Isiah was relieved that she was able to notice details where he did not.
Abe the vendor’s frown deepened before morphing into an expression of relief. “Well, at least all of my products are accounted for.”
“Wait,” Bernabé interrupted. “This guy sold—no, gave Isiah this strange trinket. A small animal skull of some kind.”
“A skull?” The confused vendor double-checked his items on display. “No, I don’t have any skulls on sale here, kid. No bone-based jewelry either, at least nothing made of genuine bone.” Abe scratched his head, turning his attention to the young kids. “Lemme see the skull, maybe I can tell you something useful about it.”
“That’s the weird thing,” Isiah said, gesturing at the empty loop of twine around his neck. “The skull just dissolved as soon as I put it on; broke down into dust in a matter of moments.”
The vendor scowled as he shifted his hand to scratch the bush on his chin, the hairs making loud scratching noises as he did so. “That is pretty weird. You sure you’re, uh… well, you don’t look like you’ve been puffing or huffing. You’re sure ‘bout this?”
“Yo, what up?” said Eddison as he pulled up beside Isiah and the gang. “Yeah, what’s going on here?” Abigail followed a split-second later, noticing the tension in the air.
“Nothing serious,” Isiah said as he waved them away before turning back to the vendor. “Sure as sure can be. My friend Olivia over here, she pointed out the skull to me—saying it would look good on me.”
“No, I said it matched your ugly—”
“ANYWAY!” interrupted Isiah, “Did you find anything missing in your stuff… mister?”
“Abe. You woulda remembered it if you were listening, kid.” Isiah groaned as he slapped his face into his palm. “And yeah, looks like all my stuff is in order. Nothing missing, so far as I can tell. So… you kids gonna buy something or are you gonna spend the rest of the day clogging up the front of my stall?”
***
“So…” Bernabé said as Isiah and his gang strolled out of the increasingly-crowded park. “This crazy-looking guy gives you a rat skull. It turns to dust the moment you put it on, and then mister creepy disappears when you turn back to face him. That’s totally haram.”
“Just… stop,” said Hasan. “Do you even know what haram means?”
Bernabé shrugged. “Doesn’t it mean like unlucky or something?”
“Seriously, man,” said Isiah, still fingering the empty loop of rope around his neck. “Might want to study up on your memes before you start using ‘em in real life, otherwise someone and their friends might have to slap some sense into your brain.”
“Well okay mister know-it-all, what do you think haram means?”
Isiah was about to pull out his phone to Google the definition when Hasan beat him to the punch. “Forbidden by Islamic Law.”
Bernabé went quiet after that, and vigorously nodded his head. “Huh. Know what, that makes it all the funnier. Haz, imagine what your dad would think if he found you pissing around with evil juju like vanishing rat skulls.” The boy laughed after that, pleased with himself while tossing a candy wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Yes, Bear,” groaned Olivia, shaking her head. “You are such a paragon of cultural sensitivity.”
“Hey,” he replied waving her off, “Just crack a few Latino jokes on your end to make it all fair. Beaners, tacos, sombreros… whatever floats your boat.”
Isiah put an arm around his friend, trying but failing to suppress a smirk. “You know what, I do believe my garden’s front lawn needs some trimming.”
Bernabé pointed at him, mock-scowling in outrage. “See? See what my people have to put up with? The oppression? The stereotyping?”
Hasan couldn’t help but laugh along with the boy’s antics. It was short-lived though, as he shook his head and sobered up. “Yeah, I get it. I wanna make the same stupid jokes on my end. Only problem is, I don’t know what’s fair game and what’s not. One joke could get my dad and his friends all roaring their heads off in laughter. Another joke, and I’d end up with a smack on my head and endless lectures for weeks on end. Seems like it’s best for me to get out of the whole thing altogether and just shut up.” Olivia joined in, patting Hasan on the back, while Bernabé waved his concerns away.
“Bah. You should just ride the stereotype, esé. Grow out your beard, wear a turban, let everyone think you’re a bomb-packing, AK-toting jihadi. Shove it in their faces, dare them to accuse you of something, then let these pendejos drown in their fear. Look at me,” he said, puffing his chest out. “Everyone thinks I’m a cholo—locking their doors, hiding their women and children whenever I walk past.”
Olivia snorted, then laughed full with her belly at that. “You, a cholo? Bear, nobody would mistake you for a cholo with those dorky glasses sitting on your face. And a pocket-protector? Seriously? It’s like you’re trying to get someone to pull your underwear over your head.”
“Hey! Don’t mock the pocket protector, chiquita. Smart is the new sexy! Besides, you wouldn’t go on a night out without protection, would you?”
Isiah smiled, glad that Bernabé was making good progress in mucking around with Olivia while getting on her good side. Bear might be a bit crass, but he was good at heart—a good match for Olivia if she’d get a clue and finally reciprocate his feelings. Speaking of matches made in heaven…
“I’m telling you, it’s a stupid idea for us to start slapping more tariffs on trade treaties with our allies and then pull out troops because we want them to ‘carry their own weight.’ We leave them, they’ll flip right on over to China or Russia first chance they get. Especially now, what with populist demagogues pretending to be paragons of democracy while angling up to be the next Saddam, Gaddafi, or Assad. By the time we realize what’s happening, it’ll be too late for us to do anything!”
“Yeah, right. You think they’ll help us when we need them? Naw, they’re just mooching off us while they go murder their own people in the dark and stuff. We grow weak, they grow strong, and we’re not even sure they’ll be there to help us when we need them. No, we’re stronger alone. We conserve our resources, consolidate our forces, and hit back hard should anyone try to challenge the might of the US of A.”
“Hah! You think we’re going to get stronger squatting in our little corner of the world, shutting everyone else out? You think the billions of people out there aren’t going to be buying from and selling to our enemies instead of us?”
“Like we need crappy, spider-infested bananas and second-rate knockoffs from—”
“Hey you two!” Isiah yelled back at his two bickering friends. “If you’re done with foreplay, I know an excellent motel where you can get real hot and heavy.”
Eddison just barked out a laugh while Abigail had the decency to blush right before glaring daggers at Isiah. “Yeah man,” said Eddison, still chuckling with mirth. “Mighty considerate of you. Now if you’ll hand me some ID so they’ll actually let us in…”
“Eddy!”
“Just kidding, Abigail. You know I won’t disrespect you that way. Not unless you want me to.” He whispered the latter into Abigail’s ears. Isiah did his best to ignore the girl’s muffled groan of arousal. “Ugh,” muttered Hasan in disgust. “Seriously, get a room you two.”
***
“And where were you this morning, young man?”
Isiah groaned as his father nabbed him by the collar, thwarting his attempt to sneak into his room undetected.
“C’mon dad. It’s trash market day. You know, all the weird stuff that they sell? I even managed to snag you some of these sweet baseball cards,” Isiah meekly said, holding out a bunch of cards that he thought would win his father’s interests.
The man, however, only narrowed his eyes as he inspected the upheld cards.
“Boy, what year do you think I was born in? My gramps would have waxed nostalgic. My dad might recognize some of them. Me? I have no idea what I’m looking at here.”
“Um… so you don’t want them?”
“Never said that. Gimme here.” Isiah’s father swiped the cards and checked them out as a grin slipped out of Isiah’s mouth. “Hey. You still aren’t in the clear for skipping out on morning practice. Your brother and sister already done with theirs. You? You head down to the basement and sta
rt smacking that punching bag.”
“Ugh. But daaaaad!”
“No buts or butts, young man. I want you down there right now, and I want to hear some solid connections. The kind with enough impact to send shockwaves thumping into my ears and lungs. If I don’t hear just the right kind of thwacks, I’m going to go down there and show you how it’s done—as many times as needed.”
“Child abuse! I claim child abuse! Wait until child services hears about this!” Mock-raged Isiah, waving his fist in the air.
“You can scream and plead all you want, Isiah Hunter. My house, my rules.”
“Technically, dear,” interrupted Isiah’s mother, “it is our house, our rules, and I say that you lay off Isiah and taste this casserole for me. I’m experimenting, and you’ve got a better taste for telling me if I’m getting it right or wrong.”
“Only for casserole? Hwa-Young, I’m pretty sure you were saying something different about my tastes the other night when I was doing that thing you—”
“BRADLEY!!!” screamed Isiah’s mother as she swatted her husband on the shoulder with a towel.
“DAD, NO!! Ew, ew, ew, ew… EW!” Isiah dry-retched, shivering and hugging himself at the mental picture that suddenly popped up in his mind. No one wanted to picture their parents doing the nasty with one another—especially a young teenaged boy who was struggling with hormone issues of his own.
***
“Oh, c’mon! That guy was totally hacking!” groaned Isiah, tossing his controller onto the bed while his head-mounted phone displayed a big, fat “YOU ARE DEAD” sign on its screen.
“Stuff it, ‘Zeyah. I told you to hang back and wait for the fool to expose himself. Some people in this game have actual skills, you know.” That was the voice of Hasan, chiding Isiah for allowing himself to get sniped while peeking out of cover.
“And… got him!” said Olivia, to Isiah’s disgust.
“Well, at least Isiah served as good bait.”
“Glad you found my death so useful. Jerks…” Isiah blindly groped around for his controller, then cussed as he took his headset off and peered around. He picked the controller back up, slid his headset back on, and checked the progress of his team. He, Eddison, and Abigail were down. Olivia, Hasan, and Bernabé were still alive. They held the hill, hiding behind cover while other players converged on their location.
