#torges | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nine-of-words · 6 months

Text

Out in the Cold (Part Five)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3631

Content Warnings: None

Sorry for such a long gap, I had a crippling bout of writer’s block and then it was suddenly a month later. But I’m pleased to announce I haven’t forgotten how to write :)

You look down warily at the creature scratching at the base of the tree you’re perched in.

This little guy is nothing like that one scary hexopard etched in your memory- the one that supplied the material for your beloved winter cloak.

You sigh at the sight of the creature’s plush fur. You left that cloak behind when you fled the settlement, despite it being one of your favorite belongings. It just didn't feel right to take it with you after… everything… but the biting cold is really making you wish you had caved and brought it along anyway.

This smaller hexopard’s scavenging around for food at its leisure, driven to snack on anything it can get its hands on easily to bulk up for the coming hibernation, but it’s not in a hurry.

Because it’s not currently driven mad by post-hibernation hunger and aggression, you can probably distract it enough that it won’t view you as a tasty morsel to snack on and you’ll be able to slip away. You just need something enticing enough to hold its interest…

Then, looking down at its twitching nose, you realize that its sensitive sense of smell has probably picked up on the dried venison jerky in your pack. Your theory is all but confirmed when you pull out the pouch where your rations are from within, and you swear you can see its eyes light up.

“Alright, buddy. Follow these and not me, okay?” You say, looking for a good place to toss them. Then, you wind up your arm as best you can in your position, and chuck the pouch into the woods in the opposite direction.

The hexopard immediately lets off the tree and lumbers after the pouch, tail swishing behind it as it loudly crashes unbidden through the underbrush.

After a few moments of observation, you slip down the tree gingerly, hoping to not become more interesting than the alluring scent of dried meat. When you get to the bottom, you’re relieved to see the creature so fully engrossed in your ration pouch that you might as well not exist any longer, its snout fully covered as it roots in the opening of the leather. You sneak off quietly while you still have the chance.

Once you get far enough away, you resume your trek at a faster pace. After another hour or so of traveling, you grin from ear to fluffy ear as the sight of the river comes into view.

Salvation.

Your pace picks up without you even thinking about it, your morale boosted by something going right for once. Your tail curls behind you in a delight.

You’re not exactly thrilled at having to give up your only food supplies; yet you’re alive and no longer lost, and that seems like a pretty good trade-off.

Now, all that’s left is to follow the river back to town. Then, this whole ordeal will be over. You’ll be back to your old life, though now enjoying the increase in station in the guild pulling off such a momentous task surely will earn you. Who knows, maybe they’ll even splurge on a feast to celebrate!

Now that does sound good right now.

Think about something else, you urge yourself. You need to force yourself to stop, lest your mouth start watering. Anything else… The grumbling of your stomach is distracting enough already.

But it’s no use, you’ve fallen down the mental rabbit hole, and now only thinking of all the things you’d like to eat when you get back. You’re swept up in thoughts of whole roasted suckling pig and honeyed chestnut sweetbread… braised venison with cherry glaze and grilled root vegetables… seeded crackers with soft cheese and over-slathered with homemade berry jam…

Hell, you’ll even take marinated eggs right now…

You wipe your mouth on your sleeve. It takes you a moment for it to sink in, but those are all things that you’ve been eating at the stronghold that you’re craving, not things you miss from home. All of your memories of food you miss from the past are so fuzzy. It’s hard to remember anything of note, past vague, smeared memories of nostalgic meals you ate when you were very young.

And when you get back… you probably won’t eat Orcish food again. At least not for a while.

It’s… fine.

You’ll be home, soon. And you won’t have to think about any of this ever again.

LAST SPRING

“Surely there’s something I can help you with.” Your tail swishes in agitation behind you, a clearly visible indicator of your emotional state. “You’re just being difficult.”

“Urgh- Don’t you have something better to do than bug me?” Torg rumbles, running his good hand down his face in annoyance. "Work to finish? Anything?"

His arm is still in a sling from the hunting incident. And true to his nature, he's being an absolute ass about accepting any help.

"I've already filled my quota today." You say smugly, hands planted on your hips. It's one of the rare days you've finished early and without incident, and you're quite pleased with yourself about it.

"Good, you should be off enjoying the nice weather while it’s here, rather than nagging me in this stuffy office."

"Just let me help you, you stubborn oaf!" You lean over the desk, slapping your hands down on the papers in front of him. Your loosely laced shirt hangs off you a bit with the movement. The new clothes you had made for the warm weather don’t quite fit you as close as you typically wear your shirts- the tailors here still aren’t quite used to your non-orc proportions.

Torg simply stares down at you in perturbed silence. You’ve gotten much more comfortable with the way you communicate with Torg since the hunting trip, but he is your superior. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone too far..

"...Torg?"

"...Fine." He grumbles, now looking at anything but you.

He really must be prideful if accepting your help makes him this uncomfortable…

"Shop taxes are due, but I don't think I'll have time to visit each one today." He makes a list of names on a sheet of paper. "You can knock out some of the collections for me."

"You're trusting me with handling funds?" You scoff.

"When you put it like that you're really making me second guess it." He chuckles, but slides the paper across to you nonetheless. "But I do trust you, if you can believe it. They'll already have the gold ready in pouches. You just have to collect them and bring them back here."

"Alright. Leave it to me." You take the paper with a grin, filled with a sense of victory at having convinced him to let you help.

He grunts and goes back to what he was doing.

You can barely refrain from rubbing your hands together in glee on your way out. If the big man of the settlement trusts you with funds of all things, it looks like you're making progress towards your goal. Maybe having a reason to poke around more shops will give you more of an idea of where the item you're looking for is…

The first stop is close enough: a short walk to the tailor's shop, nearby in the middle of the settlement.

"Good afternoon ladies!" You say cheerily as you enter the colorful shop. Granny Ghorza is taking a break from her loom, sweeping the floor instead. She's become one of your favorite orcs here; she’s a funny old bat and makes the best sweets in the whole settlement, to boot. "The good looks must really run in the family."

Her young adult granddaughter manning the counter balks a little at the blatant flirting, but gives you a courteous smile. She's a nice enough woman, though shy and a bit forgettable. Her name eludes you at the moment…

"Mmhm, and how are your new spring shirts fitting dearie? I might have to add some modesty stitches if you're going to wear it unlaced like that, ohohoh!" She cackles, using the broom handle to pull at the front of your partially open, billowy shirt. "Looks a little breezy, you might catch a cold- or worse, someone’s attention, eheheh!”

"Ahah- They fit perfectly fine, thank you!" You act scandalized, pinching the gaping collar closed and pressing the broom handle away, before you turn to approach the counter.

"Um, what brings you here today? I don't think you have any orders waiting to be picked up..." Ghorza's granddaughter says meekly with a polite smile, looking through the ledger book at the counter. "Your items are… hard to forget, since they don't use up much fabric…"

"Ah, I'm here to collect your tax dues." You explain. "Since Boss is still healing."

"Oh. So… He isn't coming today, then…?" The young woman asks, in a curiously forlorn tone.

"Afraid not. Though, I assure you I am perfectly capable of safely transporting a gold pouch." You say and let out a friendly laugh.

"I see, I see. About time the man let someone give him a hand once in a while." Ghorza gives you a toothless smile. "Would you be a dear get him the dues, Murgol? The pouch is ready in the top drawer."

Murgol twists the hem of her shirt in her hands in displeasure, looking like she's about to break into tears at any moment. Then her lip quivers, and she unceremoniously flees the room, sniffling.

There’s an awkward moment of silence that seems to stretch out far too long for your liking before Ghorza speaks again.

"Mmgh, that girl…" Ghorza shakes her head in reproach.

"Is she… going to be alright?" Clearly something upset her quite badly, but you don't think you said anything that egregious… "I hope I didn't offend her…?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. She's sensitive when things don't go her way, but she'll live." She shuffles behind the counter, hobbling into her granddaughter's previous spot. "Let me get you the gold, dearie."

You leave the tailor shop, eating a slice of candied apricot-studded sweetbread that Ghorza definitely forced on you and you only took because you were guilted into taking. You scratch the tailor’s family name off your list as you reflect on the strange interaction with the seamstresses.

You like to think you're quite astute when it comes to social intelligence, but you just can't put your finger on what may have been the trigger of her outburst.

Oh well. Perhaps she's just going through something personal?

You put the interaction out of your mind and head to the next place on your list.

You walk into the blacksmith's next. Luckily she doesn't seem to be too busy as the shop is currently devoid of customers, with her hammering out something at the anvil.

You’ve been friendly with her ever since prepping for the hunting trip. Apparently Lurog and her are good friends, and she was kind enough to let you use her shop to create the arrowheads you needed for your trial. You buy them directly from her now, chatting a while every time you come to replenish your supply.

"Hello Burzgob," You speak up so she can hear above the metal clanking. "Amazing job you're doing there."

“Thanks, little guy. I'm guessing you're not here to buy? Don’t think you used up all those arrowheads from the other day already. …At least I hope."

"Nope, I'm here to collect tax dues. I'm helping Boss out since he's still injured. Two hands better than one, or so they say."

She guffaws, setting the hammer down and pulling her gloves off before wiping her hands on her apron.

"Oh, damn. I was expecting him to be the one to drop by." She rubs her cheek with the back of her hand, still managing to smear soot there as well. “Bummer.”

"Spirits, you're not the first to feel that way today!" You say in exasperation. "I'm starting to think no one wants to see me…"

"Hahah! Nothing personal, trust me!" She grins and pats your shoulder, getting soot on your shirt as well. "Had something I needed to ask him."

"Oh, I see." You nod, and without missing a beat, nonchalantly add; "About what?"

"Hah! So nosy! Sorry, little guy. I like you, but it's a secret."

"Drat. Well, I tried…" You let out a performative sigh and shrug.

"Hey, uh… you're pretty close with Boss though, right?"

…Are you…?

You hadn't really considered it before, but over the course of training and especially after the hunting trip, you've definitely gotten used to his presence. You have something akin to a friendship now; or at least, what must look like one from a spectator's point of view. He’s quick to help you with anything, but he seems to be that way with all of the people in his charge. Though, at the very least, he trusts you enough to let you help him with this task, when asking for help with his own tasks seems to be something he does very seldomly..

"I suppose you could say that." You conclude.

"Can you deliver something to him for me, since you're going back there anyway?"

"Sure, I don't see why not."

"Great! I owe you one, bud." Burzgob's face lights up as she grins, the silver caps on her tusks glinting. She returns and hands you a tied bundle with a letter tucked under the string. It smells like perfume. "Uh, promise you won’t read it, okay?"

You fervently promise you won’t, then bid her goodbye and leave the blacksmith's.

You have a similar experience at the tanner's, then the baker’s… and then the chandler’s…

Somehow, this seemingly easy task has left you feeling like a withered corpse. Luckily for you, however, seeing which family runs the last business on the list fills you with a sense of ease.

The shop bell jingles as you enter, and you’re immediately awash with the pleasant scent of soap, as well as a heady mix of any sort of cosmetic salve, wax or powder you can think up.

Your self care routine took a little adjustment, being out in the wilds, now. So many of their products were completely foreign to you at first. But despite the slight learning curve, you’ve honestly never felt better. You weren’t exactly taking the best care of yourself while hopping from flophouse to flophouse that belonged to your guild; you barely had the resources to keep yourself fed, let alone buying overpriced soaps and perfumes. But here, things aren’t too expensive, despite being handmade and about as locally sourced as something can be.

Lurog is sitting behind the counter of her family's salon, seemingly counting out the till while the shop is closing down for the evening around her.

"Hey." If she's surprised to see you, she doesn't show it. "We're closed. But if you want your hair done I can do it for you when I'm done here."

"Oh, is that Boss?" You hear one of Lurog's several younger sisters call out from farther inside the shop.

"Is he finally here?!" Another one chimes in and peeks her head around the divider.

"No! False alarm." A third one sweeping her station sighs. "Just the little kitty cat."

You quirk an eyebrow at the reception, but everyone but Lurog has gone back to chatting over their tasks.

"I might just take you up on that offer, I'm getting a little scraggly… Not what I'm here for, though. Boss sent me to collect your dues."

Lurog nods in understanding, but your attention is on the loud, spirited gossiping in the shop behind her as the women discuss their displeasure at this development amongst themselves.

"Don't mind them." Lurog shakes her head in admonishment. "They're just mad because they wanted the chance to flirt with Boss."

“Flirt?” You scoff. “Taxes really get their motors running, huh?”

“Hah.” Lurog rolls her eyes. “No, they’re just all desperate to find men to torment.”

"Oh." You say, wheels starting to turn in your head. "Do you think that's what's going on with everywhere else I've stopped today too…?"

"Wouldn't doubt it. Boss would be a catch for a lot of the women in the stronghold." Lurog says simply, retrieving the gold pouch and sliding it to you over the counter. "Midsummer festival's coming up. Big time for romance. But Boss is either real picky or just not into it. Hasn’t taken any of them up on the offer yet… But he also hasn’t explicitly turned anyone down.”

“Ah, but then… Why are they all still asking? Wouldn’t he just ask who he’d like to and be done with it, if he wanted to court anyone?”

“Because with orcs it’s up to the one that’s gonna be taking it-“ She smirks and makes an incredibly crude gesture with her hands. “To ask to start the courtship, or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Really now?” You feel your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “Why is that?”

“Unh-uh.” Lurog shrugs. ”Just how we do it, I guess."

Well, that certainly explains why you haven’t been getting invitations to share anyone’s bed, despite being as gorgeous and alluring as you are. What would a full-fledged orc want from you, with so many massive, hunky orc men around to choose from?

But that means you have the power to try to lure a man in.

Hmm… if you were to ask out one of the right orcs, you might have better access to off limits areas for your search…

Lurog must notice the spark of an idea in your eye of how to use your newfound power, because she quickly adds; "You should wait until the festival to harass any men. Better success rate."

“You know, you’re actually very helpful when you want to be.” You grin at her. “It’s a shame you don’t often want to be.”

“Thanks.” She snorts in a deadpan tone. “I wish I could say the same.”

You finish your friendly ribbing with Lurog, more than ready to haul back the large rucksack of gold and the almost nearly as large, cumbersome pile of offerings for Torg, and be done with this task.

You can't help but get into your own head about what's happened during this excursion while you make your way back. You can feel the irritation growing the more you dwell on it, your tail twitching behind you.

All of the shop owners on your list were women. Specifically, women that seem to be interested in Torg. It seems far too unlikely to be a coincidence- you doubt that many of the shops in the settlement are run by eligible women fawning over Torg.

More importantly, why does it upset you so much?

Jealousy…? Because you’re lonely?

It must be that- because he apparently has a queue of women asking to court him when none of the male orcs in the settlement even look at you twice.

…Right. That must be all it is.

You're still a bit grumpy about it as you return to Torg's office.

"Here you are." You set down the pack with the gold pouches inside and the bundle of gifts on his desk with a heavy sigh.

"Thanks for the help." He says, then noticing your clearly negative mood, he looks up from his task. "I hope it wasn't too much of a pain."

"No, it was easy enough.” You grumble, and go on to quip as you nonchalantly examine your cuticles; “Though… if you wanted me to host a meeting of your fanclub, you could've just asked."

"That bad?" He looks genuinely sheepish, scratching the edge of his beard.

"It was pretty bad." You put your hands on your hips, deciding that you'll give him a bit more of a hard time. "A lot of disappointed ladies giving me shit for not being you."

"I'm sorry. If I knew it would bother you, I wouldn't have given you that task."

"Apology accepted, but it seems…” You make a noise in disgust. “A tad unkind to lead so many people on like this, doesn’t it? It's not like you at all."

"I'm- Ugh. I'm not leading anyone on. At least I'm not trying to-" He runs a hand through his hair in discomfort. "I am Chieftain, I can't have so many of my people holding a grudge against me for rejecting them romantically. It would be disruptive, so I thought it would be best for me to just ignore any of these crushes some of the younger women have on me."

"It must be difficult being so popular with the ladies…" You say dryly.

"Hey, poke fun all you want, but it can be. Someone will be hurt regardless of what choice I make."

"Why not… Oh, I don’t know… pick one, then, and get it over with? Then the ones you don't pick can accept it and move on, rather than holding onto false hope."

"It's not that simple…"

"It sure seems like it is!" You chuckle. "How is it not the simplest thing?"

"Because I am not interested in any of them."

"You're telling me you have your pick of half of the young, gorgeous Orcish women in this stronghold throwing themselves at your feet," You lean over the desk and gesture to the bag of offerings on his desk. "And not one of them meets your standards?"

"No." He says heavily, clearly weary from the ongoing nature of this conversation. “Are you satisfied? Can you end this interrogation now?”

"...Okay." You relent, incredulous, but still accept his words. You've grilled him enough, you suppose.

A small smile has taken up residence on your face. Did you really enjoy hassling him that much…?

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #orc x reader #orc #monster x monster #male reader #male monster #troll reader #mlm #mxm #male x male #queer romance #series: out in the cold #oc: torg #oc: reyr #nine of words

16 notes · View notes

nine-of-words · 9 months

Text

Out in the Cold (Part One)

M Orc x M Troll (Hulder) Reader

STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3087

Content Warnings: Hypothermia (Sort of)

I started writing this story last winter, and I’m so excited to finally start posting it here! These two have become one of my favorite pairs I’ve written ever, so hopefully they grow on some of you, as well.

You've been running for hours, now.

The cold winter air stings your lungs with each heavy breath you take. Your feet ache in your boots as you run.

It's begun to snow.

The sight fills you with a pleasant feeling despite your current situation, and you subconsciously slow your pace to appreciate the fat clumps of snow falling around you.

Just a few flurries at the moment. But there's a heavy snowstorm coming, and you have somewhere to be before it gets here.

So, despite your fatigued body crying out for a break, you keep running. You don't have the luxury for rest at the moment - keeping whatever scrap of headstart you have is too important. You've got to put as much distance between you and them as possible, while you still have the stores of energy.

It’s been so long since you had to do any real running that you’re not used to the physical demand anymore. You’ve gotten soft from your new, relatively cushy life- like the bushy bit on the end of your tail.

You push on through your physical discomfort, darting through the underbrush as quickly as you can manage.

Are they trailing you yet? Orcs are naturally predisposed to be excellent at tracking prey, so once the hunting party catches on to your trail, your task of eluding them is going to be made that much harder. It’ll be a question of when you get caught at that point, rather than if.

Given the amount of creeping sunlight breaking over the tree-laden horizon, early risers should be waking up for the day already. One very specific early riser is sure to notice your absence… Someone who would be giving you a lecture about pacing yourself if he was present.

You sigh, the gust of breath forming a warm cloud of steam in front of you.

Pushing yourself too hard never ends up well. Maybe it's time you start taking that lesson to heart instead of being so stubborn. You always end up making a mess of things when you're exhausted. Or when you're not...

…You have enough time for a break, you decide. A short one. Just long enough to drink from your canteen and wolf down some of the jerky and dried fruit you had remembered to pack.

You sit on an appropriately flat and dry rock, absentmindedly checking your compass when your mind wanders to the last time you had to travel such a distance, nearly a year ago. It was snowing then, too…

LAST WINTER

Utterly lost, you collapse from exhaustion in the middle of the quiet, desolate, snow-covered forest.

Somehow you made it through the snowstorm itself, but now trudging through the several inches of it covering the ground has consumed the last of your energy.

Your head feels funny.

How long have you been laying like this? Time starts to bleed.

The cold seeps into your bones, and a gentle layer of powder accumulates over you.

"Huh. Weird shaped rock." Someone mumbles in one of your moments of clarity, in what could either be moments or days later, for all you know.

You feel the tip of a heavy boot impact with your side. It's more of a nudging tap than a true strike, but they might as well have stomped you with how much everything hurts at the moment. You recoil with some of your last remaining strength.

"Oh shit! Not a rock!! It m-moved!!" The voice all but shrieks. "Lurog! C'mere!"

"What are you carrying on about?" An unamused voice accompanies the crunch of a second pair of boots in the snow.

You feel a wooden rod, likely the blunt end of a spear, prod between your shoulder blades.

"Dead."

"S'not dead! I just saw it move!"

"Dead." She repeats the prodding for effect.

"Stop! You're gonna hurt it!"

The two voices discuss how to handle the corpse/rock in front of them, until you hear the crunch of a third set of heavy footfalls approach.

"What is the problem here?" The third deep voice chimes in, and the other two voices immediately go silent in deference. "Your squabbling is scaring away the game."

"Boss! I think this rock is alive!"

There is a short beat of silence, followed by the female voice failing to hold in snorting laughter.

"I mean- Urgh-"

"Enough. I understand."

You feel a presence hover over you, and a firm, gloved hand takes you by the elbow. The world spins as you're rolled onto your back, all of your limbs on deadweight and your hazy eyes struggling to focus.

Warm, calloused fingertips touch the side of your cold neck. You want to flinch away, but you don't have it in you.

He holds them there for a few moments - checking for your pulse, you realize.

"They dead?"

"Not yet."

You wouldn't truly die from the cold, anyway. Thanks to your troll biology, it's impossible for you to freeze to death. But you would be in stasis until someone found you and warmed you up, a rude awakening when you realize how much time would have passed- a diversion you can't really afford at the moment.

A hand brushes your bangs from your face, but your vision is nothing but ethereal shapes.

There are two fuzzy figures to either side in different shades of green - one a mossy tone and the other more of a pine - and a slightly larger blue one against the sea of blurred white and coniferous grey-green.

“I-It looks weird. I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“‘It’ can probably hear you, you idiot.”

Even without being able to see them clearly, though, the coloration and the names would suggest that these are orcs. Part of the group you’re looking for, ironically? You struggle to focus your eyes, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to clear the ice from your lashes.

"Huh, Urguk was right. Miracles do happen." She laughs.

“Heeey…”

"You gonna put 'em out of their misery, Boss?"

Damn.

You barely manage to have a more coherent thought than that, fear settling in that these brutes are going to kill you before you even get a chance to attempt the job you came here to do, but your limp, freezing body is unable to act, even to preserve your own life.

"...No.” He says after a moment of deliberation, assuaging your fear slightly. “Troll. Nothing that Shaman can’t fix if we warm them up soon."

He grunts and the looming presence and warmth of his hand is gone, the shape becoming distant as he assumingly stands back upright.

"Urguk. Run back ahead of us and tell Shaman to get prepared." He orders in an even, authoritative tone.

After an affirmative noise, footfalls crunch away at a sprint, without so much as a question.

"Lurog, you help me wrap them up to carry."

“Sure thing.” Despite their tired affect from before, again the hazy figure agrees with no argument. Willing, even.

There’s some shuffling and rustling of fabric, and soon you’re lifted from the snow covered ground like a soggy ragdoll. Your damp, snow laden cloak is removed and replaced with a dry, heavy fur-lined one that’s big enough to bundle you up completely from head to toe.

They support your weight under your knees, leaning your body against their shoulder. A small, feeble noise of relief escapes you as you slump against the warm, firm wall of muscle holding you up.

Once they’re sure you’re secure, whoever is carrying you begins to move. Their stride is steady, strong and almost hypnotic.

At some point in the journey, you must’ve fallen asleep to the rocking of their gait, because no time seems to pass before you wake up again in a warm bed, with the sight of wooden ceiling beams above you.

Before you can ponder the nature of your situation for very long, your finely tuned senses alert you to the presence of someone else nearby- the small sounds of rustling and a vaguely herbal scent filling the air.

You jolt upright, ready to react if the situation calls for it, then immediately regret it when the resulting wave of nausea hits you.

You slouch back down in defeat. But luckily, your keen eyesight has returned. You pupils constrict to take an appraisal of the other person occupying the dim, warmly lit room.

They’re a greying, slightly weathered orc of indeterminate gender. They seem to have a wiry build under the multiple layers of robe, fur and feathers. They also wear quite a bit of ornamental jewelry- all made out of natural materials, like glass beads and carved bones. The most noticeable are the two large, perfectly circular hoops braided into sections of their hair on either side, hanging at about chest level.

“Easy. You’re still recovering.” The orc says in a comforting tone, approaching with a small, wide cup made of lacquered wood. “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands. Hah!”

“Ah, and who might those hands belong to?” You say, as charmingly polite as you can muster through the dizziness.

“I’m Shaman of this tribe.” They say with a nod and a warm smile, light glinting off the metallic cap on one of their tusks. Then they hand you the cup, which you find to be filled with some sort of pungent green sludge. The wood is warm to the touch, and feels good on your hands. “Go ahead and sip that. It’ll help with the nausea.”

“Pleasure to meet you, er- I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-?”

“That’s by design. Once you’re in my position, you’re simply ‘Shaman’. Not only a title, but a byname.”

“Fascinating!” You attempt to make a good show of sipping at the sludge in the cup, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit. “Ah- excuse me- So- Would that make you the decision maker around these parts?”

“You could say that, but in truth it’s a joint effort. So any decision of a certain weight would have to be considered by both me and my fellow leader.”

“That would be me.” A gruff, hazily familiar voice says from the doorway, which he literally needs to duck his head under to clear.

“So he is.” Shaman smiles.

“Um… Hi.” You grin sheepishly and introduce yourself.

“Torg. I am Chieftain here.”

He is a huge slab of a man. He has a broad chest and set of shoulders, with a good set of arms, and is clearly of towering height. The only thing on him that's small in proportion are the tusks jutting from his lower lip, and even those are only small in proportion.

Otherwise, his styling is plain and practical, from his choice in clothing to the length and keep of his beard. His hair is long, thick and dark, mostly pulled up into a pragmatic half-bun atop his head. Honestly, you wouldn’t even have paid any attention to his hair at all if not for your eye catching the glint of light bouncing off something shiny there. Large silver rings are woven into the few braided sections of his hair - what seems to be the only real ornamental items he wears. You astutely observe that they’re similar to the ones that the Shaman wears, save for the material.

And a facial expression that could sour milk. Yep, that’s an orc alright…

A blue orc.

Orcs with skintones outside of the ubiquitous greens, tans and ochres aren’t unheard of in some climates. You’ve even seen a crimson red one in the city before... But you’ve never seen a blue one. Trolls? Yes. But not an orc.

It makes your brain itch, but you’re not sure why. Maybe it'll come back to you later.

Big fish - literally big. Gotta make a good first impression.

You turn your charm switch on like the second nature it is, honeying your voice and smirking.

“Oho, I must be lucky indeed if I’m getting a welcome visit from the Big Boss himself.”

You barely finish your sentence before breaking into a forceful coughing fit- not exactly the smooth first impression you’re trying to make.

“You’re lucky you still have all your fingers and toes after your idea of an entrance.” Torg snorts indignantly, shaking his head. "If you weren't a Troll, they'd have fallen off. Assuming you hadn’t died first."

“Yeah… Not my most shining moment, admittedly.” You let out a sigh, finally catching your breath and your posture slumping a bit.

It takes a moment for the memory to slide into place, your mind swimming in blurred shapes of color and warmth returning to your body. But you’re sure this is one of the orcs that brought you in from the cold. You don’t think there’d be another massive blue orc running around, even this far north…

“You were one of the group that brought me here, then?”

Torg nods, but his grim, hardened facade doesn't so much as crack in the slightest.

“Thank you. It was quite cold out there.”

“You can thank the other two knuckleheads when you’re feeling better. They’re the ones that found you.”

“Well then, I’ll be sure to. Maybe I'll put together a gift basket.” You smile; Even if he doesn't seem to appreciate your humor, Shaman seems to.

“As I was saying- true to Orcish ways, Torg here and myself run the settlement together. He is the civil leader, while I am the tribe’s healer and spiritual advisor. We’ll be happy to help you get back on your way to whatever your destination was, but first we do have some questions.”

“For one- What were you doing so far from town, to be succumbing to the elements right outside of our gates?” There is a dubious tone in his voice, passively letting you know that your intentions are being well scrutinized. “There’s nothing this far out besides us, unless you’re hunting. And you don’t look like a hunter.”

“Oh. That’s because I was looking for this very settlement, in fact.”

“Why?” His eyes narrow in pointed suspicion, not having expected you to give that information so freely.

“I want to live here, of course! ...If that’s okay with you.”

“I see no issue, if that’s what you’d like.” Shaman remarks pleasantly.

“Absolutely not.” Torg grunts indignantly, the disparity of the sentiments giving you whiplash.

“Ah, you object, then?” Shaman questions.

“Yes, I object. This is suspicious.” He scowls, turning his discerning gaze to you. “You mean to tell me that you were so desperate enough to leave wherever you came from to start a new life here, that you would make a long, grueling journey? In such scant equipment?”

You resist the urge to gulp down your stress. You can’t be found out just like that, can you? You have no evidence of your trade on your person that could’ve been discovered while you were passed out…

Does the look of you simply scream thief, then?

"Er… Yes?" Great job. That sounds like-

"You're aware that sounds like a load of shit, right?"

“Maybe, but I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.” You say forlornly, averting your eyes. This may be something you planned to say to garner pity and hopefully ply entrance into their stronghold, but honestly… Hearing yourself say it out loud, it’s not that far off from the truth. “And I had heard that orcs take outcasts like that in...”

“Come now, Torg. You’re being more cautious than necessary, in my opinion.” Shaman lays their palm on his shoulder, though they have to reach upwards to do so, which makes the typical image of an elder giving counsel look a bit silly. Their various baubles clink together with the movement. “It’s been so long since we’ve had new blood join us. It may be good for the settlement. An omen, perhaps.”

“And you know better than anyone in the settlement that not all omens are good.” The large man grumbles back to them in response.

“He’s only one small troll-cat. What damage could he possibly cause?” Shaman gestures to your small size with their bangled hand. “And do remember that according to the New Ways, we have a responsibility to protect those that aren’t fortunate enough to be blessed with Orcish strength.”

His jaw clenches rhythmically as he stares down at you. He's clearly in roiling inner turmoil over whether you can be trusted. After a few moments of agony pass, he sighs heavily and shrugs. His hard expression relents a bit.

“Fine. If that’s really the case… You’re free to stay. But that means doing your fair share of work, like anyone else - when you are recovered, that is.”

“Excellent.” Shaman nods in approval.

“O-Of course!" You sit up straight and give him the most charming smile you can muster. "Thank you both so much. I promise I won’t let you down!”

“Hmph. We’ll see.” He shakes off your words and hastily gets to his feet, the wooden chair creaking slightly as he does. "Just don't make any more trouble."

"I'll try." You laugh with a nod, but are unable to hide the wry grin on your face. You try to restrain it- You’re supposed to look scared and helpless and pitiable, not balking at the idea of having to face any consequences.

"One more thing." Torg lingers in the doorway before departing. "If any of my people come to harm because of you- you will answer to me. Keep that in mind."

"I wouldn't dream of it." You try to restrain the smug grin that is trying to break across your face.

After Torg departs, you let out a huge breath of air that you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Thank you.” You say again to the Shaman. “You really saved me there. I thought he was going to turn me out in the snow for a moment.”

“Oh. Don’t mind him.” Shaman laughs. “He would have never- he’s all bark and little bite. Even pleasant, when you come to know him.”

“Hah, well, I’m sure I’ll enjoy getting to know everyone here!”

“Oho, there’s time for that later. For now, you need to rest and regain your strength.”

You nod, then lay back against the pillow behind you, lacing your fingers in your lap.

You’ve managed to get in, and that’s the hardest part down- now it’s time to move onto the next phase of your plan.

You’re already begun mentally penning the letter to your guildmaster at the thieves’ guild to inform him you’ve arrived.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x reader #orc x reader #orc #male reader #male monster #troll reader #mlm #mxm #male x male #oc: reyr #oc: torg #series: out in the cold #nine of words

33 notes · View notes