I was both nervous and anxious to get started. Lucky Lue had the orc love potion ready; I placed the vial of luminous green liquid safely in my pack and lead my pack mule out of the village and up the eastern trail toward orc country.
I expected it would take me two days to reach the outer boundary of the King's land. The warm pleasant weather would have made the journey enjoyable, if not for the presence of the stone jar.
I had it strapped onto my mule with the rest of the supplies but the horrible Decanter demanded my attention like a horsefly hungering for blood. Eventually I just couldn’t take it anymore; I unload the stone jar and carried it in my arms. While the jar wasn't very heavy; it was definitely an annoying conversation piece for every curious person that I passed.
At one point, a farmer walked out to the edge of his pasture to watch me pass; he leaned forward on the wooden rail of his fence and smirked: "So what's in that there jar young feller?"
I really didn’t want to have this conversation at all. "Monkeys," I said.
The farmer tilted his head like a curious dog: "What in the tarnation's a Mung Kee?"
I paused, nervously shifting the stone jar to my left arm. "Um... let’s see… they're like giant squirrels that pull your hair, and punch you in the eye, and steal your best pair of shoes, scratch, and claw, and ruin your life by making you carry around a stupid cursed stone jar for the rest of your life!”
I was shouting at this point and shaking my right fist in the air. The farmer had cautiously backed up and was giving me one of those looks that I've been noticing more often.
“It’s just a jar,” I said after an awkward forced laugh. “It’s just an ordinary jar that I keep ordinary things in!” I ran after my mule and didn’t look back.
On the third day I passed outside the boundaries of civilized lands and into the wilds. As Lucky Lue had suggested, I would travel to one of the high ridgelines overlooking the river valley. With the wind at my back that high location should be perfect for spreading the scent of the love potion over a wide area and the rugged north slope would give me some protection if escape became necessary.
I had taken a narrow trail that seemed to only be used by hunters, when I heard a voice ahead. Someone hummed a tune... the voice seemed so familiar. Soon I was pleasantly surprised: of all the people; I wasn't expecting to run into my old friend the priest.
I saw him standing in a clearing beside the trail with a walking stick cradled in the crook of his arm; he greeted me warmly and invited me to use his camp for the night. The day was getting late by that time so I quickly agreed; then I realized that the old man wasn’t alone.
Three young men and one young lady accompanied the priest but they stayed on the other side of camp, as though they were frightened. The priest didn’t introduce the travelers and I didn’t ask, but something seemed amiss about the four youths. I watched them as I set up my tent. They always kept to themselves and I never once heard any of them speak.
I was curious, of course, but I was mindful to respect their privacy and content to let the mystery pass. That evening, though, as I walked with the priest to gather firewood he told me their sad tale.
"Larius," the priest spoke in the manner of a man weighed down with a great burden of sorrows. "These poor travelers that I came across in the wilds... it breaks my heart when I think of how they have suffered."
"Why, what happened to them?"
The old priest sadly shook his head as a single tear ran down his cheek. "These unfortunate young people are the only surviving members of a once proud kingdom, now they've been reduced to wandering lost through the realms; all they have left in the whole world is each other."
"I had no idea..."
"Larius, have you ever heard of the Kingdom of Zaroonia?"
"No,” I said. “Is that where these travelers you're guiding hail from?"
The priest nodded. "Zaroonia was once a great kingdom far to the west of here. I traveled there on a pilgrimage years ago. The people were both peaceful and prosperous. The capital of Zarooniest was a sight to behold: a shining beacon set on the banks of a sapphire sea. They had everything a people could ever hope for... fertile lands, fine wine, clean waters teeming with fish, vast forests... but alas, for them it was never enough.
"Why,” I asked. “What happened?"
"It was a horrible epidemic; a curse they brought upon themselves." The priest was visibly shaken and had to sit down before continuing, the story pained him so. "They used powers that should only be reserved for the gods; it was hubris that destroyed Zaroonia. It all started with a fish; the most horrible fish imaginable: a fish that destroyed a kingdom!"
"But how can a fish be so dangerous?"
"Oh, Larius, this was no ordinary fish, it was cunning.” Great emotion overcame the old priest then and tears streamed down his cheeks.
“It twisted the people's own words,” the priest said at last. “It used their own desires to destroy them."
I exclaimed: "A talking fish?"
The priest nodded: "It was a magic fish, caught by a mere boy. Once caught on the boy's hook this enchanted fish said it would grant three wishes in exchange for its freedom. First the boy wished for a fast horse, and then for a new boat, but showing unusual cunning for a child of his age, his last wish was for two more magical fish. He let the first fish go and put the other two into a pail of water.
He gave one fish to his best friend and kept the other for himself, each boy made sure to save the third wish to ask for more magical fish. As you can imagine it didn't take long before the entire kingdom was awash in fishes granting wishes.
It was a horror to behold. Fast horses stampeded through the city in their thousands trampling everything in their path; houses grew to enormous size, some made purely of gold and standing taller than the trees buckled under their own enormous weight and collapsed to the ground flattening whole neighborhoods. Fleets of luxurious sailing ships crashed and splintered along the shore with no crews to man them.
And the people... Oh Larius, what horrors they became! It all started very innocently, a man wished to be a bit taller or a young woman wanted long blond locks. But it soon got out of hand; there was a fierce competition between neighbors to see who could be taller, stronger, or fairer.
Larius, the monsters they turned into... I will not soon forget. The men grew tall and fierce with long arms and legs; they became obscenely muscular and so big that no house could hold them. To protect themselves from the weather, some men grew fur like a wolf, others dragon-like scales. And some parts of their anatomy they kept wishing larger and larger until... it was no longer of any real biological function... but driven by madness and competition some men kept wishing until they couldn't even walk!
The women were just as horrific. Lustrous silky locks poured from their scalps and spilled across the floor and out the windows, lips became so plump and full they could no longer speak, eyelashes grew longer than your arm, fingernails like sabers jutted off their perfect hands. Their skin was so smooth and flawless it had no pores at all, so that the ladies would faint from the slightest heat. They also changed their figures to become so perfect in form that they could no longer stand upright on their tiny feet, but being so heavy in front, the women would tip forward instead!
All the kingdom was taken up in this mania, all except one. Was it the Chancellor's great wisdom that saved him or perhaps it was his fish allergy? I cannot say, but he alone recognized the danger and locked away his four children, keeping them safe as chaos engulfed the kingdom. When it became clear that all hope was lost, he went to them and explained that they must escape and forever leave their homeland behind.
With that, he sent his four children off into the wilderness. Then the Royal Chancellor walked out into the street and picked up a magic fish (they were flopping all over the place at this point). Then he said the words that would end the madness but also cost him his life."
'Fish,' he said. 'I wish that all the magic fish in this once proud land would forever disappear!'"
"By the gods!" I said. "Those four youths that travel with you... they are the lost children who escaped Zaroonia?"
"Yes, Larius, sadly it is true. I found the poor souls but a few weeks ago, shortly after I met you. I have been trying to care for them as best I can but they only speak Zaroonian and they have nothing but the clothes on their backs. The poor souls are so traumatized they burst into tears every time they see a fish, so it makes river crossings difficult. I know of a monastery that might take them in but... arranging their passage will be expensive... and I am but a humble priest who has sworn a vow of poverty."
My heart went out to these unfortunate refugees. I donated what coins I had with me to the priest and sadly walked back to my camp.
----------
The next day I turned north on a narrow trail that zigzagged up the ridgeline. It was late in the morning when I got to a small rocky clearing atop the highest point. I had an excellent view. Northward I could see the river and many leagues beyond. White smoke rose from a clearing in the forest three leagues away. Dozens of crude skin-covered huts were set up randomly about it. I had found the orcs.
As I waited for the arrival of my orc bride, I focused on learning everything I could about the upcoming wedding. Intoxicated orcs don’t tend to make for good conversation but I did learn something useful.
There were two requirements for a marriage to the Chief's daughter: 1) The groom must prove himself as a warrior and 2) The groom must present a gift to the Chief.
I wasn't exactly sure how I was supposed to prove myself but the gift requirement really got me thinking. I had something that I badly wanted to give away.
----------
The noise coming from the forest was getting louder. Sticks cracked underfoot, tree limbs twisted and snapped as the creatures approached I watched as previously fierce orc warriors slinked about camp like beaten dogs; if orcs had tails they would have been tucked securely between their legs. Krugugk stepped out of his tent; he was the only orc who didn't look terrified, he merely looked nervous.
A scout emerged from the forest first, running and glancing nervously over his shoulder. He ran right up to Krugugk and commenced groveling, begging for help, and hiding behind one of the Big Chief's legs like it was a thick furry tree trunk. Krugugk kicked the scout off his leg and stared down the trail, his tusks clicked together nervously.
Then I heard voices, high pitched and sharp as knives. Louder and angrier, the noise filled the air. Words spoken too fast to comprehend mixed with indignant snorts and pig-like squeals, and then, as I stood beside the Big Chief, the first of the orc women reached the clearing!
I wish I had the illustrating talents of my father, because I don't think words can possibly describe the scene that unfolded. These orc women charged into camp in a fury; they were every bit as large as the males but a good deal meaner and most definitely louder! They were clad in brightly stained fur dresses, colorful necklaces and shiny medallions dangled from their thick muscular necks, their upturned noses were pierced with silvery rings and animal bones, long tangles of bristly hair dyed the most peculiar and bright colors flapped vigorously as they stormed into camp.
I watched as one giant orc woman spotted a warrior who was attempting to sneak away. She moved with frightening speed to intercept the poor orc, grabbing hold of him, beating and lecturing, and pulling his hair. He begged and groveled... then let out a horrible squeal as she wrapped her big red-painted lips around his right ear, and bit down hard, all the while continuing to pummel the poor guy with her two free arms!
Unfortunately, this sort of thing was going on all over camp: a big orc woman would grab a male orc, beat him severely, and then drag him either into a tent or off into the forest. Horrible shrieks of pain and high-pitched lecturing could be heard in every direction; then I noticed two of them walking toward the Big Chief and me!
Krugugk was a charmer; that was clear to see. His wife blushed as he put the silver chain of a necklace over the yellowish fur that covered her thick powerful neck. The locket was made from the very tip of a pig's snout with a sizeable ruby socketed in each nostril. It was obviously expensive though I couldn't say it was all that stylish. But it was, evidently, perfect for an orc woman; she blushed, batting horse-like eyelashes, eyelids crudely smeared in red paints fluttered seductively and then she jumped up into the Big Chief's strong arms and began smacking big sloppy kisses along his scarred jaw. What followed was too disgusting to put into words.
During all this wild activity I thought it was my chance to escape, but then just as I turned to retreat I heard the most terrifying words behind me: "Me Fluzfluz! Me take you now!"
My bride to be looked at me with wide intoxicated eyes; she was clearly under the influence of the love potion. I tried to retreat but she grabbed me up like a child and took off toward the woods. The howls and screams of the poor orc men all around camp got even louder. While I bounced about, tucked securely under Fluzfluz's furry orange arm, I remember a single moment of clarity. I realized, right then, that I had the mystery figured out.
The orc warriors weren't hiding their women away in some distant location; they were hiding from their women! That's why orcs had no permanent settlements, why they were always on the move, invading new lands, constantly going to war... it all made sense now.
----------
I was dead. I was most definitely dead. My escape went so smoothly at first. I survived the disgusting pre-wedding festivities and then I presented the cursed stone jar to the Big Chief with clear instructions on how to open it. To be rid of the jar someone else had to willingly accept it knowing it was cursed. With the potion still intoxicating him, Krugugk didn't seem to mind. That night, the night before the scheduled wedding, while the exhausted orcs slept I made my move. I limped sorely out of camp and traveled all night.
Five orcs tracked me down and captured me around sunrise; they bound my hands and marched me back to the main camp. The potion's effect was all but gone; the war party treated me like any other captive, prodding me along at the tip of a spear. I fully expected to be killed or worse when they got me back to the camp.
Krugugk would realize I had tricked him into taking the cursed jar. I optimistically hoped the Big Chief would just smash me with his club, quickly putting me out of my misery. I was soon to find out. Several bruised and battered orc warriors got up to watch me march to the Big Chief's tent.
The guards stopped outside, cut the ropes that bound me, and prodded me forward. I decided to meet death with as much dignity and as little crying as possible. I ducked my head under the filthy pigskin flap, trying to avoid touching the snout and ears, and then I boldly stepped inside. I expecting him to whack me right then but he didn't; instead, I heard the sloppy sounds of an orc eating. I uncovered my eyes to see Krugugk seated on a pile of furs finishing his meal. He didn't look angry at all.
"You back!” Krugugk shouted: “Good!"
"Uh... Yes... Big Chief Krugugk... Uh, I certainly didn't mean to leave your beautiful daughter before the ceremony..."
Krugugk waved a huge paw dismissively. "Bah... you too weak to marry mighty Fluzfluz, you no survive second night!"
I was way too sore to argue that point. "Though... Uh... I am terribly disappointed; I see the great wisdom in your words Big Chief. I would like to say that I regret getting your warriors drunken on the fumes of that potion."
Krugugk's thick rubbery lips pulled back into a terrible smile. "You good smell! Better smell yesterday, better smell two days ago... Aaahhh... Good sniff."
"Uh... Yes, well... I'm afraid that the smell is going away... you see I don't usually smell like that. But I would like to say that I'm terribly sorry about the stone jar... I am prepared to take it back if you want me to..."
There was a flash of anger in Krugugk's beady yellow eye. "You give magic bucket! You no take back magic bucket!"
"Yes, of course Big Chief... the magic bucket is yours to keep... I am just surprised that you like it so much."
"Mmm... Krugugk like... Krugugk much like magic bucket! But Krugugk want more! Tell Krugugk how get more!"
It took me a while to understand him but after he explained the situation I knew just what to do. Krugugk was fascinated by the jar but one jar apparently wasn't enough for him. The Big Chief wanted to know who gave me the jar. I was all too eager to draw a detailed map to the wizard Pittsnoggle's tower for a small fee.
Krugugk was so pleased with the map that he didn't even smash me; in fact, his mood was so good that I had permission to leave his camp in peace. I took one last look at Big Chief Krugugk as I left his tent. Krugugk reclined back on that thick pile of furs holding the map I sold him in his big left paw, and with his other hand he concentrated on picking a chunk of raw meat out of his teeth using a long pointy shard of broken monkey bone.
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