Keith Edward English, Wordsmith

Here, you’ll find short stories relating to Gax the orc and his fiery elf companion, Darsil’eit. These are heavily inspired by my time playing D&D and Magic: the Gathering. Enjoy part 1 beneath the links to the others.

Part 2   –   Part 3    –   Part 4    –   Part 5    –   Part 6    –   Part 7    –   Part 8   –  Part 9  –   Part 10  –   Part 11   –   Part 12  –   Part 13

Part 1 – Gax is Hungover

Gax ambled down the broad thoroughfare, clipping shoulder after shoulder. Had this been a normal day, the road would have been far less crowded. Had he been a human, he would have slipped past most of those rushing against his tide.

Today, however, was the Festival of Drakes and Gax was an orc, and a hungover one at that.

He and his elf companion, Darlis’eit, tramped onward, Gax groaning and mumbling curses at those he ran into. He held his axe in one massive, green hand, too hungover to strap it to his back. It was difficult work not stabbing or cutting someone, both because he didn’t particularly care about those around him and because of the throbbing pain hammering his skull.

They came upon their target, and Gax’s heart dropped. A hundred feet away stood a man with a wide grin, handing a massive turkey leg to a customer in exchange for a few bits of silver. The problem, however, was that there only remained one last leg.

The fog plaguing Gax fled and he straightened up. “By Axrok’s hairy balls!” he seethed. “Dar, hold my battle axe!”

Gax thrust his weapon at Darlis’eit, who had no choice but to grab onto the massive weapon lest it fall atop her or tip over and cleave through some unlucky passerby. She began to berate him but he was off before she could even utter her first swear. He blundered past people as he jogged, his brain slapping against the inside of his skull with each step, nausea and pain washing over him.

Gax danced around a handful of children, nearly squishing one, then came directly toward a man hawking various leathers, his cart twice as wide as he was. Panic set in. The greasy, delicious turkey leg he savored could be being bought at this very moment!

Gax sprinted straight at the cart. A few steps separated the two when he suddenly leapt and continued to pump his feet as though he could run on air. He expected to sail right over it. Rather, he fell right back down to the earth and smashed into the cart like a battering ram.

Wood splintered and the cart toppled, now nothing but a pile of rubble. Gax twisted and fell, his plate armor saving him from anything worse than superficial damage. The vendor, ignoring Gax’s size and formidable appearance, wheeled on him and began shouting.

Dar hustled forward, her mouth agape.

“My boots?” Gax asked, astonished. He inspected his feet as though they were new to his body and found old, grubby boots.

“You lost your boots of air stepping in cards last night, you idiot.”

Gax rolled his eyes and his head fell back; the pain and nausea afflicting his noggin was far worse now. The vendor began slapping Gax’s shoulder, demanding payment for his damaged cart.

“Get up, you big oaf,” Dar growled tugging on Gax’s ear.

“Hold!” he barked, Dar relenting. “I assume we have to run?”

“I’d say so.”

The vendor, hearing this began to flail his arms, screaming for the Guard.

Gax held up a finger, turned his head, and vomited stew that had been digesting since last night. “Much better now.”

Dar’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “That’s just adding insult to injury.”

“Well, I didn’t like it either.” He stood on shaky feet and snatched his axe from his companion. “I hope you remember who got my boots, because I want them back, dammit.”