Tom looked at him, puzzled.
“Well, what if the planes that we call ‘the localverse’ all observe the same rules of magic because they are other planets in the same universe? If they are on opposite sides of the galaxy, or different galaxies, we couldn’t even tell by the position of the stars,” Antefalken said.
Tom shook his head. “My head is spinning. The multiverse is huge — an infinite number of infinitely large universes with galaxies and stars!”
“Yeah, I try not to think about it. The nice thing is that with no night in the Abyss, we don’t have to stare up at the night sky and think about such things,” Antefalken replied.
Shortly before midday, Tal Gor and his compatriots landed about a thousand feet from the southwest outskirts of Murgatroy’s wargtown. With luck, the D’Wargs would get along with the wargs. Wargs from different tribes were often prickly around each other. D’Wargs and wargs would probably be even worse. With wargs, the promise of food and water, along with finishing a long journey, was usually enough to take the edge off. However, D’Wargs did not need to eat, drink or sleep, and really did not seem to get worn out.
In any event, Tal Gor would be glad to get off Schwarzenfürze. They had stopped at dawn to relieve their cramped legs, cramped bladders and cramped intestines. The orcs also ate trail bread and refreshed their water pouches from a nearby stream. The bread, water and walking around had helped clear their heads of glarghvost. Not completely, but it made the morning journey much more pleasant.
As to be expected, the D’Orcs spent most of the journey ribbing the orcs about their pathetic constitutions and being unable to hold their glargh. They liked to come up behind you and slap you hard on the back while screaming a loud greeting in your ear. Further, they also took great joy in discussing the most disgusting foods they had ever eaten, trying to make the glarghvost-suffering orcs toss their stomachs.
In all, a swell group of guys, Tal Gor thought. It was probably natural, in that the first generation D’Orcs had been chosen by Orcus as the best-of-the-best orc warriors. Therefore, you had these walking orc archetypes, and the best bloodlines the multiverse had to offer for the younger generations of D’Orcs. In particular, that explained Vespa, who was just so amazing! Yesterday, she had congratulated him on one particularly superior kill by punching him so hard in the shoulder that both Bor Tal and Fel Nor had had to help him relocate his shoulder in the socket afterwards! Tal Gor grinned and shook his head in appreciation of her magnificent strength. His shoulder still ached today.
As they were coming in for a landing, he could see orcs of various tribes, along with a good number of wargs coming to the edges of the wargtown to see them land. Several had their hands to their brows, trying to get a clearer view in the glare of fierdlight from above. Others were readying their weapons, naturally expecting an invasion. That is why they had landed a thousand feet away, to give those in the town time to realize they meant no harm.
Soo An had unfurled the tribe’s banner while they were in air. The flying tack had pole cups and straps for two banner staves. Vespa explained that, as their guests in this world, the D’Orcs were marching under the Crooked Stick banner on this mission. Soo An would also be carrying the colors with them into town.
They landed and the orcs dismounted.
“Keep your weapons sheathed and D’Wargs heeled,” Vespa ordered. “We’ll march with Tal Gor and myself in the lead, Soo An to my left flank, Virok to Tal Gor’s right flank. We keep our arms to our sides and in plain display.” It was a standard neutral formation for potentially rival tribes when approaching. The very presence of D’Orcs and D’Wargs guaranteed that those in the wargtown would be suspicious.
They approached the main corridor of the town. It was not walled, obviously, being a place for wargs to relax and wait for their orcs to return from the city. The wargs wanted to be free to come and go. From the main corridor, where a crowd had gathered, a large, heavily scarred, old orc shoved his way to the front, along with an orc in a vet coat and a one-eyed orc who looked to be nearly ninety years old, yet still quite burly.
Vespa chuckled and whispered to Tal Gor, “I am enjoying our visit as much as I can see you are. In the Abyss, we only have trading missions with various demon groups, and they are either notoriously hard to impress or the kind of spineless weasels you would just as soon step on as talk to.”
They came within twenty feet of the wargtown’s advance party. The leader was looking Vespa directly in the eyes; the other two were leering at her in a mixture of lust and barely concealed terror. Tal Gor chuckled. This woman’s mere presence could defeat an entire orc troop. The crowd in the town was staring and pointing at the D’Orcs and the D’Wargs. The wings were clearly confusing them.
The wargtown leader nodded to Vespa. “I am Meat Maker of the Broken Tusk Clan, Master of Wargtown here in Murgatroy,” he stated loudly. “This is WargDoc Toothsetter of the Nan Tribe, Vet of Wargtown.” He gestured to the orc in the vet coat. “To my left is Tiberious Smashfinger of Murgatroy, Watch Commander of Wargtown.”
Vespa nodded to them. “I am Vespa, daughter of Selma, daughter of Hazel, daughter of Vera Death Sister of the Crooked Stick tribe. I am Commander of the Nineteenth Regiment of the Dark Lord Tommus. My D’Orcs and I ride today under the banner of the Crooked Stick tribe at the invitation of Tal Gor El Crooked Stick, Shaman to the Dark Lord Tommus and the Crooked Stick tribe.” She gestured deferentially at Tal Gor.
Her right arm then gestured to Virok. “And this is Huntmaster Virok Soulwrecker of Erdnalia III in Visteroth.” That caused a number of mumblings.
“Apologies,” said Meat Maker, nodding to Virok, “I am not familiar with your clan?”
“I am from the plane of Visteroth; it is far outside this world’s localverse.” Toothsetter and Tiberious Smashfinger’s eyes both got a bit wider. The volume of noise in the crowd also spiked with this statement.
Tal Gor smiled. While there were certainly plenty of legends of offworlders, none had been seen in millennia.
“And you, commander?” Meat Maker made a gesture up and down, taking her in. “You and some of your compatriots are a bit unusual in appearance. Who is this Lord Tommus that you serve?”
From behind them, Kirak snorted. “You would think they had forgotten about D’Orcs!” Several other D’Orcs made snorting noises.
“You are the D’Orcs of legend and myth?” Meat Maker was now clearly looking troubled.
“We are,” Vespa stated. Tal Gor could sense her pride in the statement. “We serve the Dark Lord Tommus; the prophesied heir to the throne of Orcus and the new Master of Mount Doom!” She gave the crowd a very pleased, yet still rather frightening grin. The three leaders shifted quite uncomfortably as the crowd in the wargtown started babbling excitedly behind them.
“Uhm, so what brings you to Murgatroy?” Meat Maker asked nervously.
Vespa smiled. “What else? We come to trade. We have business in town and need a place for our D’Wargs to rest while we are here.” She held her arms out wide. “On this, we are no different than anyone else here.” She gestured to the town.
The three leaders stared warily at the D’Wargs, who stood off to the side snorting, spitting and periodically expelling snot, as was their wont when idling. Much like wargs, actually, just a lot more so.
Tal Gor glanced at the D’Wargs, controlling a smile. He could not blame Meat Maker for his trepidation; the D’Wargs were a surly lot. If he had not spent the day hunting with them, he would have been nervous himself. Of course, the way the D’Wargs were eying the wargs in the town... well, it was quite unsettling, suggesting a sort of hunger, but given his knowledge of wargs, he was sure it was more of a mating hunger than physical hunger.