Grimm Skavahund ponders how to cook a dragon.

Author’s note: there is a distict lack of conflict here. It was fun to write, but it needs revision if it is going to be a true short story

“Make way, boys! Make way! Have we got a treat for you! But first I gotta clean up!”

The green-skinned orc Grimm Skavakhund was huge: seven feet tall, with massive gnarled limbs like oak trees. He was layered in heavy plate, and spattered shoulders-to-shins in fresh gore. He bristled with weapons, and was peeling them off scabbard by scabbard as he marched into the Eagle Nest’s main barracks. Weary men-at-arms followed close behind him. Inside, pages scurried to and fro helping soldiers remove their armor.

“Here lads, help me get this gear off. See that it’s cleaned. You others get the kitchen fired up, we got us a feast to prepare.” Shoulder-plates and arm-guards clattered to the floor as Grimm popped straps without breaking stride, the rest of his suit of armor followed quickly.

“Are you a knight… sir?” one young boy stammered.

The young orc scoffed. “Close enough, lad. Now show me the baths! I can’t cook when I’m filthy, and this dragon sure won’t cook itself.”

Another boy struggled with an armload of Grimm’s plating. He gaped as he staggered behind the Warder, “You’re to cook a… dragon, sir?”

“Did I stutter, boy? What else would I do with it? Monstrous red beast it was too! Nearly had us, but a young silver dragon intervened to save us. Which doesn’t sit well with me, I might add!” Grim barked, “On the battlefield, I’m supposed to be the protector, and that silver done finished what I couldn’t. Gets in my craw, it does. That’s a debt I owe now. That silver gave its life to secure our victory, and I’ll not be forgetting that. Your commander says a family of silvers act as custodians of this area?”

“Aye, sir. I’ve only seen them from afar. One or another of the young dragons visit on occasion to share news.”
One soldier, from those who followed Grimm in from the gates, spoke from the side with a shaky, weary voice, “Zhivak. It was Zhivak what challenged the red, master Grimm.”

“Aye,” said another stepping gingerly into a battered tub, “Zhivak, and I’m glad it ain’t me who’s gotta tell his mama that he’s fallen.”

Grimm nodded somberly, and scrubbed quickly, “That’ll be my duty, I’m guessing.” More brightly, he continued, “Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything the likes of that battle before! Flame and ice spewed everywhere, my damned brother hugging a red dragon like a cherished lover. HAHA!” The love of a good fight brought genuine joy to his features.

Then Grimm’s expression shifted to an ominous grimace, “You men have done the Eagle’s Nest proud today, alright? So don’t take this wrong, but that there was a skirmish you were meant to lose. Look you,” he stood sharply, sloshing water out of his tub and across the stone floor, “You were lucky. Alla you. Not only did Zhivak help my brother and I destroy that red dragon, but a centaur fella named Swifthawk trampled half of an orcish raiding party that had swept in behind it, while a benevolent necromancer tore apart the other half. If those unexpected allies didn’t arrive when they did, you lot would be fertilizing the trees out past the walls of the Nest, or dying on the walls themselves as we speak.” He dressed quickly.

The young pages looked nervously back and forth to each other as the soldiers in the baths all nodded and mumble agreement with Grimm’s words. The man who named the silver dragon spoke again with warmth, “You and your brother were instrumental in our victory as well, master Grimm. Don’t you doubt.”

A third man chimed in from across the room, “No shit, Jon, you ain’t kidding! Did you see his brother, Khyber was it? Jon, did you see Khyber ride that red like a damned bucking bronco clear across the field?” The men around all roared and laughed in agreement. The pages’ eyes popped, and their mouths all hung agape. What they heard here today they would remember and retell to family and friends and strangers alike for decades to come. This was the birth of a legendary tale, indeed.

Another voice piped up, “Aye, I sure did! It was because big Grimm here put the fear of death itself upon the red. I saw it with my own eyes: Grimm launched a dreadful, bellowing charge through the trees! And then cleaved the dragon asunder while Khyber kept it grounded. The beast wailed in terror as it fled!”

“More like he put the fear of feast itself into the dragon!” Another corrected, “Grimm says he’s gonna cook that dragon up for us!”

“That we are, men!” Grimm replied, “I ain’t ate a dragon yet, and I aim to remedy that, pronto! Besides, you all need to eat well and build your strength because a couple-few days from now? What you saw today will seem like just a buncha kids rough-housing in the yard.”

“Why do you say that, master Grimm? We’ve fended off bands of wild orcs for years. If ya seen one orc raid, ya seen em all. Right fellas?” Jon declared as he followed Grimm’s lead and left his bath.

Voices of agreement rang out from the other dressing men.

“Well men, from what we gathered out there earlier today, Someone’s organizing the orc tribes. Bringing them together for something big. Don’t you doubt, but there’s a million-orc horde headed our way or my brother ain’t Khyber Skavakhund! Now lets stop dilly-dallying. I’ve got a feast to prepare. What’s your preference? Dragon stew? Dragon-meat pie? Dragon burgers? Roast Dragon? Dammitall, what’s the best way to prepare dragon meat? We’ll have to try ’em all…”

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