An Orcish Feast

The scent of fresh bread, baked goods, melted cheeses, and numerous forms of masterfully cooked meat greeted the ambassador’s nose as he stepped into his host’s dining hall, the orcish clan-chief, Zhorgo Ilvrygad having invited him to an informal dinner hours before. Despite his nervousness at his new position, Ahlren had been happy to accept. After all, orcish cuisine was a hearty affair, and the human ambassador needed a reprieve from the excitement and stress of becoming accustomed to his new duties. In addition to this, he remembered that it was considered hurtful to decline such an invitation on the first night of one’s visit- not rude, but hurtful indeed. 

 

“Good evening!” the human heard the orc’s deep voice resonate from across the hall as he stepped inside the vast chambers, his host standing in front of a tall backed chair made of carved wood, decorated with motifs of grain and cattle dogs. “I hope your visit to our lands has been a pleasant one, my small friend. Come, sit down! It is just you and I for tonight, regretfully the others of my house are unable to attend this evening.”

 

Ahlren smiled at his host and gave a brief bow, the orc clan chief’s boisterous friendliness almost infectious. The clan chief was a tall, strongly built orc, with a firey red beard and a skin of green scales that were the same color as the leaves on the trees. He wore a magnificent breastplate of decorated leather atop a shirt of fine chaimail, accentuated by a large bear-fur cape. When the ambassador approached, they shook hands, the orc careful not to crush his guest’s much smaller hand, and then they sat, the orc dwarfing his human guest even when seated. With a clap of Zhorgo’s hands, servants emerged from behind a silk curtain, ushering in the platters of mouthwatering food- slabs of steak and a full roasted pig, as well as loaves of bread, some of them plain, some of them adorned with melted cheese. Far too much for only two people, even if one was an orc like Zhorgo, but Ahlren recalled that the servants would take whatever was left over once they’d finish, and if there was anything left after that, they would give it to those who couldn’t afford to feed themselves. It was something that the ambassador admired about the orcs: supplies were never wasted. A remnant of more desperate times, yes, but one he felt humans could stand to learn. 

 

Remembering his education in Orcish culture, he waited for Zhorgo to take his portions first, and then watched as the clan chief sampled each of the items he had added to his plate. After the chief gave him a satisfied nod, signalling that the food was safe and untouched by malevolent hands, the human took his own food, and cut into a piece of steak he had placed in front of him, savoring the taste of the meat as it melted into his mouth. 

 

“I am impressed by the skill of your cooks,” he said. 

 

“Thank you, my little friend. My clan takes great pride in the quality of its livestock,” Zhorgo said, the sound of bright pride filling his voice. He quaffed a mug of mead, which was set in front of him, and then continued. “When other clans- and in recent years, other nations and races- have found their fields barren, it has been our honor to supply them with the meat and grain they need. Other clans pride themself on the strength of their arms, as do we, but without the marbled meat of our cows and the quality and quantity of our grain, we feel that such boasting is worthless.” 

 

Ahlren savored his food as he listened to the orc, taking his own quaff of mead. They talked together about the ambassador’s travel, and the working of Zhorgo’s clan, until finally they retired, Ahlren feeling as if his day had been well spent.