Flopping madly and spraying drops of water all about, the large, disc-shaped fish at the end of the line struggled valiantly to get away from the cudgel in orc’s hand. Just like he had done to the three before this one, however, Gax gripped the fishing line and let the fish dangle in front of him until it calmed slightly. Then, he smacked it across the eye with his club and it went dormant. He whistled as he removed the hook from its mouth, his meaty, orc fingers fumbling the hook a few times.

His joyous whistle turned to a growl as the hook pierced the tip of his finger for what must have been the third time today. He instinctually put his finger in his mouth to suck on it and spat it out quickly after, the stink and taste of raw fish lingering. Once he finally removed the hook, he tossed the fish into a wooden chest lined with burlap, a block of ice purchased from a butcher beneath that. Continue reading “Hold my Battleaxe 8 – Gax goes fishing”