Usually, the weather in this region is bright and sunny, but today a terrifying storm raged outside. Rain lashed down in endless sheets, thunder rolled across the sky, and lightning tore the heavens apart—as if the storm itself sought to warn everyone that something was about to happen.
Through the pounding of the rain, heavy footsteps began to echo—slow, deliberate, relentless. Something was drawing closer to the settlement. And then, at last, through the curtain of rain, a massive figure emerged.
It breathed heavily—so heavily, so darkly, that it seemed as though it wanted to devour the entire world. On its torn garments rattled amulets made of broken bones. The creature lumbered forward, its shadow looming toward a lonely tent that barely showed through the storm. When it came close enough, the truth became clear.
Before the settlement stood a colossal orc. But he was not like the others. One eye was gone, hidden beneath a crude bandage. The remaining eye glimmered faintly—as if it carried its own light. His tusks, once mighty, were now shattered into jagged fragments. His skin was so vividly green that, had he lain down upon the grass, no one would ever have found him.
Dragging behind him was a massive, blood-stained club, upon which a skull was impaled—perhaps the weapon’s trophy, or perhaps its purpose. His gait was uneven, his leg dragging as though broken. He looked half-ruined, half-dead, yet in his eye there was not a trace of self-pity. On the contrary, he carried the fire of purpose—a goal beyond pain, a mission beyond despair.
At last he reached the tent that stood apart from the rest. He heaved the great club onto his shoulder, ready to strike at whatever awaited him. With a sudden motion he swept aside the curtain.
Inside sat a withered crone, ancient beyond reckoning. The air was thick with strange scents—alchemical fumes, jars filled with organs of unnamable creatures, potions that shimmered with alien colors. And yet, strangely, the tent felt… cozy. As though the storm itself bent around it, unwilling to touch this place.
The orc’s furious snarl softened into bewilderment. He and the witch locked eyes, and for a moment it seemed as though they had met before. Yet they had not. Against all reason, he did not attack. Instead, he sank heavily onto a stool across from her.
She sat in silence, meditating, as though the world outside mattered nothing to her—or perhaps because she already knew who he was, and why he had come.
Finally, the witch opened her wrinkled eyelids. She coughed, a sound so harsh it seemed her life might end at any breath, and then she spoke in a rasping voice:
-"Well… so you’ve come. Then tell me. Tell me your story."
-"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh... you old… bag-hag want that me tell you a storry...ok. Me am the coolest one from boyz. Me like mushroom beer. Me like bonk bonk" The orc said with an exhausted voice.
-"No my son, tell me story of your being as one of the most powerful race. Tell me your legend, how you came this world and up to this moment my sweaty"
-"Ok old ugly hyman me tell yo me history. Listen carefyl. Me mama big belly wit’ me inside when bad bandit boyz smash into village. Mama love smash much, she say ‘uhh, me make baby fast, then smash bandit.’ Mama run to barn, push me out in two second, no help. Then she throw me in barrel o’ mushroom beer, so bandit no smash me. Mama run smash more.
Villager smash bandit good, then party long time. But… uhh… all forget me in barrel. Mama say me swim in beer many moon, til me drink ALL beer. Then me smash barrel from inside ‘cause me hungry. Me baby horn break, but me crawl out. Whole village come, think monster inside… but no, just me – fat belly boy stink beer smell ten mile away!
Mama tell story, village laugh, name me Gabagoz – like beer me born in. After dat, me only sleep in barrel. That why me short, wide, stypid, look like barrel now. Me grow, smash all, love smash life. But one day… NO BEER LEFT. Me cannot live, so me go find beer. Me join orc band, we smash, rob all – even rob self sometime and smash too. But then spooky humie come… he kill many orc with magic, make dead orc stand up, smash us. Dead boyz smash all, me loose eye, but me run – me no die ‘fore drink more Gabagoz!"
The orc paused briefly, as if trying to think of what to say next.
-"Look me big, you smoll. So now, old bag-hag… you give me beer? After me tell best story of mighty Gabagoz?! If you not, me can smash you"
Said the orc, demonstratively tapping his huge club with the palm of his hand.
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