Nom was a simple orc; he lived for the sizzle of his wok and the smile of his customers, his noodles wriggling between their pursed lips. He was of average height for an orc, just under six feet. He kept his auburn hair short in a flat top and always wore a bright blue apron, but one thing defined Nom–more than any other feature.
Nom had forearms like a bear's head, their power and crushing strength, undeniable. On any given day, you might find him, back straight, fist locked around his wok’s handle; so close to the basin his emerald flesh seemed like it might boil, the black steel handle running the length of his forearm.
“Hey Nom, we're here!” Their voices called out to Nom in tandem.
Nom, who was currently fussing with a vegetable basket, craned their neck in mock surprise, “Jynx, Noxx, what are you doing here?” He turned back to his work, attempting to twist mangled basket wires back into position.
Jynx, who wore a spiked, bleached-blond mohawk, turned to face their brother, who did the same, in a riotous orange side-swept mohawk of their own. They made eye contact, smirking at each other; Nom couldn’t fool them, they knew he expected them.
They gave each other a silent nod. The brothers took a seat, leaving the remaining stool between them. The brothers placed their elbows on the counters, made from pressed titan bark, polished to a smooth ghostly sheen. They sat interlocking fingers, creating the picture of innocence, “Nom, we’re sorry. We got a new class. It's egui!” Jynx nodded vigorously, bouncing his mohawk, “Max egui! It’s [Raver]!”
Nom nodded, trying to keep a straight face. He had no idea what an egui was. “Mhm, never heard of it. I did hear of the stranger, put on quite the performance as I understand.”
Nok massaged their forearm, loosening it up in preparation for the lunch rush. “You boys gonna tell me what it does? Or would you like to explain what an egui is? Mayhaps that will help clear up any confusion?”
Jynxx and Noxx slid off their stools. With a shared glance, they broke into dance, one with arms out front rolling like a wave, the other forearms orbiting, their fists cocked. Hips, shoulders, and head swaying; the twins bobbed, music pouring from the air around them, seeping like moisture from ripples in reality. Brass horns, high-pitched like a muffled echo from distant origins unknown, their cries joined by a swarm of cicadas; sharp playful tones, pulsing rhythmically with the clanking of porcelain.
Music permeated the air, filling the twins, now vibrating with energy; warm pewter skin, internal damping – soaking in light and sound. As the music crescendoed, the twins froze, separating the infinity before the drop and the crest of the sound waves.
WHOMP
Reality suspended, a collage, Jynxx and Noxx – snapped into focus, brothers wrapped like the flame of a matchstick in a cool white aura, their feet lifted off the ground toes anchored; spiked bleached blades, puffed into a thousand needles, a spine of terror along Jynxx’s scalp, Noxx’s hair no longer side swept, snapped like snakes, their lucent eyes mismatched purple and black, soft white orbs at the center.
The twins grinned like titan spirits in orcish guise. Nom’s lip gave an almost imperceptible tremble. Like a candle flickering out, the twins touched back to earth, their transformations reversed. “I see, it's a class for waking the dead, and stirring up trouble.” Nom chuckled as he turned to his stove, muttering under his breath, “Great, some kind of ambient energy ritual, the last thing those two punks needed.”
Nom banged his fist, flipping his iron cooking ladle into the air, before snatching it by the dark cherry handle. Nom clanked its iron bowl against the water spigot above his main wok, before flipping the rune valve below; heat channeling into the wok's basin, in preparation for noodle boiling.
A chorus of two piped up from behind the orc, his flurry of activity drowned out by their whining, “It’s not for trouble, Nom! Honest. Its egui, and we can do all kinds of things with it, we might even be the next Yuki Bogbinder, but we would be the twin version of her, like if she had a skill or something!” Jynxx folded their front spike to their nose before releasing it as they spoke, “Yeah, once we level up. We can probably fly!”
A shiver ran down Nom’s spine. Bog help us, if that day ever comes! He shook off that thought by reaching for his vegetable basket, “Sluge yams and marsh lotus for you two?”
“egui!” came a synchronous reply.
Nom sighed, dropping his steam basket into the secondary wok with one hand while simultaneously using his ladle to flip the lid to his dry storage. Nom shuttled vibrant vegetable ruffage for two, their final resting place, soon to be steamed.
The twins argued about whose dance moves were more egui, while the luminous menu’s above Nom’s head flickered, their mana cylinders low. Cradling his ladle, Nom dug his thumb into the knotted muscles in his forearm; the wok-gripping arm was a little bigger than the other, and needed more maintenance to boot.
The arm hadn’t bothered him yet. Nom glanced up again at the flickering sign; it would soon. The timing was always the same. The twins argued about whose dance moves were more egui, “I’m to the max. I can prove it!” Jnxx exploded, “Are not! You move like bog sludge! Pryuuk even said so!”
Nom satisfied. The boys' lunch would be ready soon. The argument escalated. Nom turned to stare. The two boys wrapped around each other's throats. Their forms crashed to the ground. Out of sight below the shop's counter.
In one smooth motion, Nom flipped his ladle into the air, snagged it by the handle, and dunked it into cool water; Nom moved to the edge of the counter, looked over the side, at the two punks vying for position, each trying to mount the other – king of the hill, this was the only way to solve their egui issue!
Nom brought his ladle overhead and, with the snap of a wrist, tossed cold water on the heated struggles. With that done, Nom spun on his heel. The noodles would be finished soon.
Re-cradling his spoon, Nom grabbed his main wok in one hand, and a spare basket in the other; the noodles were strained, their water poured over the waiting vegetables, before tossing them into the main wok—salt, pepper, hot oil, Nom’s Nummie Powder; precise dashes of each. Nom the spoon in hand, borrowed a bowl of water from the veggies, pouring it over the noodles. Nom took his main wok in hand. He tossed the noodles. Up and around. Over and over. Their seasoning mixing and churning, covering every noodle, in precisely the correct balance.
Noxx, still breathing heavy, spoke from behind, “Hey Nom, why don’t you use skills when cooking? Pryuuk says you're at a high level. You must have good skills. You never use any?” Jynxx nodded along, as if the two hadn’t just been at each other’s throats moments before.
Nom did a donkey kick, his toe tapping an activation rune. Rounded compartments in the countertop spun open, noodle bowls raised, ratcheting into place with knocking clanks.
Nom turned, wok in one hand, basket in the other. Before the boys could blink, he flicked his wok and bounced his basket, making two neat piles of fresh gooey noodles, heaped with steaming vegetables.
Cracking his neck, he chucked his basket and wok over each shoulder, where they landed in their cradles with a clatter, “What do I need a skill for?”
Jynxx and Noxx tried not to look impressed as they dug into their noodles. Did I ever tell you two boys about how things were during the Beast Wars?” Nom gripped the edge of the counter, leaning on his arms.
The twins looked up, noodles hanging from their mouths, their only response, eyes wide, heads shaking. Nom never spoke of the War.
The noodle orc grew uncharacteristically still, “Denizens of the swamp held knife and claw at neck and scruff. Brothers of wing and fist, turned on one another. All saw demons where before – family.”
Noxx and Jynxx clasped each other's hands on the counter between them, fear in their eyes. “Swampkin fought amongst themselves?” Jynxx picked up where Noxx left off, “Yeah, the thieves guild handles any trouble, and they only steal what they need – my mom says it's never too much.”
Nom nodded, “The thieves guild keeps the order well enough. But once upon a time, the Monarchy held power in the swamp. They took gold from the guilds, as it was their right, as Daybroke’s chosen representative to the swamp.”
Noxx paused, sticks balanced with food, “But Daybroke is gone, the system cast them out.”
Nom shook his head, “No One knows, not truly, where the system came from, or where Daybroke went. But yes, Dayboke had gone from the land. And with him, so too the Monarchy’s authority over the swamp.
Nom smiled, a sad smile, “The Monarchy was powerful, their servants and guards had levels and secret classes – and the [King] and [Queen], their power truly terrifying.
Nom’s gaze was distant. “To look upon Queen Grothara Mireheart was to weep for joy, and King Brakkar Bloodtide was authority manifest, where he walked, titans bowed, and people fell to their knees.”
Noxx again, “They sound egui, why did we fight them?” Jynxx followed up, “Yeah, eguimax!”
Nom’s vision cleared, he turned his gaze back to the twins, sighing, “It's complicated, boys. Greed. That’s the short answer. Guild leaders sought greater power, and the Monarch's authority was eroding. Those with power, on both sides of the conflict, used their authority to spread doubt. Folks were hungry, resources scarce –”
Both boys cried at once, “Hungry!”
Nom nodded, “Yes, food supplies poisoned, farmers attacked, or gone into hiding. When people are hungry and without work – the point is, boys – please don’t fight.
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Nom turned and began scrubbing his wok, “ Finish up, be gone with yee. I’ve got paying customers coming soon.”
Jynxx and Noxx shoveled noodles. Elbows and wrists pumping like pistons. Finished with their noodles, the boys waved goodbye. Hair bouncing, the boys left a dust trail in their wake. Nom smiled as he polished his ladle.
Nom looked up at the menu board outside his shop. He was very proud of it. It had been in his family for generations. Its plas-glass surface, soft and porous, was clear as a dewdrop, projecting rune-light in a way that caught the eye and captured the imagination. The artisan who’d built his board was long dead; they had done it as a favor to his father, a noodle orc before him, who had lived his life in the deep swamps, dying long before Nom had his shop. Worst of all, Nom had been—not a cook, his father died thinking the worst.
Shaking his head Nom looked up, his menu was simple, like his father before him: three kinds of noodles, an assortment of local vegetables, and protein cubes. The sign was a simple construction, and the items could be changed with voice commands. The artisan had truly known their work, and its construction would last for generations. Though Nom was sad to say, it would die with him; children weren’t in his future.
A call from behind, the sounds of leather, rubbing on the edge of the stool, “I’ll have the egg noodle and extra protein cubes.”
Nom stiffened; he knew that order, if the voice like a whipcrack wasn’t hint enough, “Right away, your Lordship.” Talon was a lord, not by royal decree; no one had dared take up the mantle of Queen since the conclusion of the Beast Wars – perhaps a King would try. They, too, would fail; the guilds reigned supreme, their hold absolute.
Talon snorted from behind, “I’ll have none of that, Nom. I know you despise my title, Talon will do.” He drummed his nails across the counter.
Nom busied himself at the stove, firing runes, filling woks, and looking for the squarest of protein cubes; Talon was a stickler for the details and would pitch a fit if each cube wasn’t a perfection of geometry. As the sounds of the lunch rush came from the street behind, Nom willed the water to heat faster. He wouldn’t be getting any additional customers now.
Talon, as if sensing the orc's thoughts, said, “Why do you serve me, Nom? If you're so worried about my presence here?”
Nom turned to face Talon, lips pursed, “Talon, you know I don’t fear you, so why do you come here? Don’t you feed on it?” I shouldn’t have said that.
Talon steepled their fingers, “Do any know of your true strength, Nom? You keep it hidden so well– as for why I come here? Your special powder, of course. The secret ingredient, aged sage moss, from the Spires' own stones, how you worked out a deal for the stuff, I’ll never know, but your flavors – well, Nom, nobody does it like you.” Talon gestured to the slot in the counter before him.
Nom, without looking away, lifted a foot, pressing a toe into the activation rune. Once the bowl ratcheted into position, he turned on his heel, his eyes lingering on Talon. Flipping his ladle, Nom began seasoning the noodles, deactivating runes, before grabbing the wok and basket to serve the pointy-faced monster, sitting in his shop.
Each had their suspicions about the other, and neither spoke them out loud, a kind of silent truce between them. With a few quick wrist snaps, Talon reached for a nearby pair of sticks before shoveling the fare into his gullet.
Nom turned to busy himself in the stockroom, while his least favorite customer finished up.
A slurping sound, followed by the clearing of a throat, “One more thing, Nom. I’m looking for someone. A human, you know their species. You can’t miss him. He’s the first to be seen in these parts since the Beast Wars, as you well know. Should you spot him, or hear of his whereabouts, report it to a Spire Guard immediately.”
Nom’s day was over, soured by the presence of Talon. He always enjoyed when the Twins came calling; perhaps he should visit the school? Those boys had potential, and he was glad to see them under the wise tutelage of Pryuuk. Although he knew the school was unlikely to succeed. There were too many factors stacked against them. Nom wished he could help, but he was only one orc, and those days were behind him.
No, he wanted nothing to do with guilds or their districts; he preferred living on the outskirts, safe in the trees away from the dangers of the ground and the deep swamp, but outside the reach of guild politics, mostly outside. They still had options if they wanted to hurt your business.
Churi and Pryuuk were a prime example. Nom couldn’t understand why they’d chosen to come here, or for what reason the shaman had accepted their application. A school that was crazy, they had to know guilds would go after them. Usually, one just had to contend with one guild at a time. Those two had found the one service that could unite the guilds against them, and as a result, their endeavor was doomed to fail.
Nom decided to check on the silly bird; she really did have great tea, maybe he’d risk buying some today. That cur from the Keeper’s guild had probably long gone by now, though; he wouldn’t be assigned to something so low as threatening would-be customers.
Nom paused to gaze up at the canopy as the day came to a close, and the full spectrum of green danced among its swirling mists. He took in a deep breath. He loved the smell of titan resin, the blood of the trees used as sealant, waterproofing every nook and cranny in the precinct. The scent was sharp and tangy; it reminded him of his youth, in his small fishing village, where it had been applied to everything, and essential in the creation of rafts and small fishing junks.
Nom turned down an alley, the decking beneath his feet, warm and slightly warped, from years of moisture and heat, expanding and contracting the wood. He looked up to see vines growing down the sides of the houses, flowering with the popular, sky lilies; they were commonly grown on rope bridges, as a matter of faith, if you asked a [Shaman].
As Nom reached the end of the alley, he turned into the business area, and most of the vendors were already packed up for the day, as those customers returning home from the district platforms had long since come and gone. To his surprise, Churi still had a line of customers waiting patiently, while the birdwoman flitted back and forth, eagerly filling cups.
Nom smiled at the handful of garbage gibbons standing by to help dispose of any waste. If only people knew how dangerous those things are. It wouldn’t change anything, he supposed; they were only a danger if you threatened their great works. Not that he knew exactly what that was, or for that matter, its purpose.
Not wanting to bother Churi, Nom called out as he walked by, “Deep roots, Churi! Don’t work too late, that husband of yours will worry himself sick!” He chuckled as Churi flapped a wing in his general direction, not bothering to pause in her work. She managed to make the casual gesture seem regal; she was truly an extraordinary person.
Nom made his way to the head of the rope bridge here, which connected to a nexus tree. From there, he could head down to the docs. It was time to visit an old friend.
The Stonecoil Docks were aptly named, as the pier coiled around on its center, expanding outward, until its outer spiral fell into the firm, enchanted soil near to Murkspire’s city limits. Nom padded on sandaled feet, the smell of salt and fish heavy in the air. Fishing junk’s skimmed the water, their overhead rigging dangling with baskets, netting, hooks, and gaffs. They could be collapsed to lie flat on the junk's decks as they passed beneath the shallow stone tunnels that honeycombed the main spiral, allowing for quick passage to the central area.
The docks were home to many a child, without classes or levels, yet to be taken into an apprenticeship. There was always work here fit for the young, hauling a fisher’s nets, torn and useless to the city, for the garbage gibbons to take away.
Nom caught sight of a gang of bearkin cubs, racing up a set of steps, only to leap over the side to the waters below; bearkin were surprisingly good swimmers for all their bulk. Nom made his way to the central coil, the true information network of the Murkspire.
Crafts from all around flocked to the port, junks propelled by fans, caged in rune-wrapped wires; even fisherfolk of rafts, with skills and levels enough to match any junk. Nom laughed, remembering his days, riding aboard such crafts, their crews at each other's throats– so long from home and fresh ale.
As Nom entered the last ring of the coil, the surroundings changed. While most of the docks were uncovered, here, the final ring was an island unto itself, hooked to a rounded edge, and covered in titan offshoots. These trees were sung and worked by hand and rigging, pulled down to the docks, where they draped like cloth fishing huts and supply depots.
This was a meeting place for those folk who’ve no interest in the organized control of Murkspire proper. No sage moss glowed in the bows of these trees, but lanterns were hung, their housing burning in runes that city folk wouldn’t recognize. Crates were stacked, halphhazrdly, some vanishing into the foliage, where bats made their homes, clicking to each other like messengers in the night.
Nom headed into the Salty Scoundrel, a tavern whose overhead consisted of criss-crossing planks, sections of junk rigging whose skilled framing might last a thousand years, and crates filled with supplies, the owner assured her patrons, were needed, every last bottle, net, and buoy.
Nom took a seat at a set of benches near the water, whose backs consisted of blood fly bones, cinched together with cords of willow reeds. The table was nothing more than an old door, again recycled from an old guild hall, its wooden frame spelled with a sound enchantment. After a bit of tweaking, it had been amplified, allowing for private conversation.
As Nom sat gazing at the water, lapping against the spiral across the canal, the moss flowed like the frills of a fancy dress on the breeze, a mug of warm ale was plopped down beside him, “I wasn’t expecting yee fur another fortnight, run out of your secret ingredients already?”
Nom raised an eyebrow before taking a long pull of the warm beer, “I’m here for information.” The temperature was just right; they’d taken to surviving on cold ale. City folk came up with the strangest habits.
Tanuki sat down across from Nom, crossing their legs, as they adjusted their worn straw hat. They smiled a knowing smile, the fur around their eyes like a black mask, ruffled where it met the white seams around the edges of their face. Their bushy, grey, and black-striped tail wrapped around them like a blanket. “Information, it won’t come cheap. But you know that–”
Nom dipped his fingers into his mug before flicking the stuff at the raccoon, “Tanuki, I’m not in the mood.”
Tanuki’s tail flicked in amusement, “I suppose yee here asking for news from Grumakh. Your timing is well-placed.” They took a drink from their own foaming mug, lifting their whiskers as they did.
Nom set their jaw, “Well placed? Spit it out, you old fox!” They swiped up their mug, impatient for more information.
Tanuki ran a slender thumb and forefinger across a single whisker, cleaning off a bit of foam, “There have been sightings, greater shamblers traveling in packs–”
Nom was up on their feet, “Packs! I’ll not–”
It was Tanuki’s turn to flick foam into Nom’s face, “Calm down, noodle slayer. You know how their people are; they follow the old ways. News comes by way of the elders, a tribal gathering, my source witnessed Thrax Shadowscythe’s own accounting, as they spoke before all.”
Nom took another long pull before clunking his mug down, “Why are they in groups? Greater shamblers never gather together. What can this mean?”
Tanuki flexed their slender paw, looking down at the creases in their palm, “They're consuming elder titans, using numbers to uproot them.”
Nom was gripping the edge of the table, “If that's true– the balance, nobody is safe, their growth will be…” Nom shoved themselves back into the bench, bones creaking beneath them.
Tanuki sighed, “I’m told a delegation has been sent to Murkspire; they should arrive within the week.”
Nom responded, “That will never work; the guilds are at each other's throats. None will move to act, fearing it would strengthen the others.
Nom stroked their chin, deep in thought. “And what of this human? They show up now? The timing seems ill-fated. Have the tribes spoken of him? Heard of him?”
Tanuki nodded, “Chest of Wonders, I still let them drink here, they be good for information, they spill it like a barmaid still new in her class does ale.”
Nom snorted, “They come by the shop often enough. Muscles take a double order, triple protein cubes.” Nom stared at their empty glass.
Tanuki chuckled, “Lower your tide, old man, I'll be back with another, and you can tell me about the twins..."
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