With the fire now burning under the skillet of the heavens, the divine kitchenhands began preparing the Orcs for cooking, binding their flesh and throwing them into the pan. Semillion stood and raised his hand “I summon the mighty seasoning of salt”. Upon his command, a rain of pepper began to fall into the frying pan. Edamgouda walked up beside Semillion and smacked him in the back of the head with his giant fork. “You idiot Semillion. It’s ruined now. You need to add salt BEFORE you add pepper.” As Semillion began sobbing softly again, Edamgouda turned to the skillet of the heavens and jumped on the handle, launching the half cooked Orcs like a catapult. One of the Ebulonite soldiers turned to Nemmin and said “Gives new meaning to ‘when pigs fly’, don’t it sir?” Nemmin shook his head laughing and walked away. Could this day get any stranger?
With the pan now empty again, the troops started helping the divine kitchenhands to throw the remaining Orcs into the pan. Alatearame had descended from the lookout post to render aid herself when one of her soldiers approached her “Commander, we’ve found the Orc chieftain. He’s badly wounded but still alive.” Reflecting on the earlier battle, she remembered the way the Orcs had slaughtered so many of her best troops. The brutal savagery that had been inflicted on her kingdom by these brutes and with a coldness she rarely felt declared “Throw the bastard in. Let him cook alive.” Overhearing the command, Celarius approached the commander and implored her “That is not right Commander. It is barbaric and uncivilised.” He then pulled a pepper grinder off his belt and handed it to her. “Here. Bash his skull in with this first.”
Meanwhile, Edamgouda walked up to Semillion who had spent the past few minutes preparing but a single Orc. “What ARE you doing Semillion? You’ve been preparing this one Orc for over five minutes now?” A confused look on his face, Semillion looked up at Edamgouda and said “But I really want Crackling. It won’t turn out any good unless you score the skin and rub some salt in. It’s just taking a little longer than I thought it would.” Edamgouda simply shook his head and replied “Well, you could take the armour off first. That might make it a little bit easier Semillion.” This took a minute or two for Semillion to process and as Edamgouda was walking away called out to him “I never would have thought of that. Thanks.”
The smell of cooking pork filled the air and the last of the Orcs had been thrown into the pan. The divine kitchenhands formed up together and crossed their cutlery once more. Together, they declared “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, we summon the divine dinner setting!” Long banquet tables mystically appeared around the frying pan and out of nowhere, tablecloths, cutlery, napkins and even candles appeared. Instead of a waiter though, a violinist appeared, playing soppy romantic music and walking around the tables. Celarious looked at Semillion and simply said “You had one job. Seriously”. Still, the music was beautiful and relaxing so no great ado was made about the lack of a waiter. Edamgouda approached the commander once more. “Commander, we would like to invite you and your troops to dine with us this evening in celebration of the salvation of your kingdom.” Alatearame nodded to him in appreciation of the gracious invitation “It will be as you ask.”
Nemmin, overhearing this walked up to Alatearame and quietly asked her “Commander, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for their assistance but are we really going to eat Orc meat?” Lowering her voice Alatearame instructed “With all that they have done for us, I think it only fair that we at least try their cooking. Issue the order to the troops. Everyone is to join the feast or they’ll have to answer to me.” The troops began to gather around the tables and though initially concerned about the nature of the feast, to a man they found the food to be delicious. The celebrations carried on for hours with good food, good company and good music courtesy of Semillion’s violinist. Suddenly, the festivities were disrupted by the whistling sound of a falling object above their heads. Looking up, Semillion cried out with joy “Oh. THERE are my tongs!”
Epilogue
The room was silent, which wasn’t a good thing. With no audible distraction he was left with his own thoughts, each felt like a demon summoned from a terrible place. Those demons worked together to rip and tear at his mind, soul and heart. He was conflicted in every way imaginable. His city, his beloved Ebulon was under attack from the largest confederation of Orcs ever assembled. There was no absolute ruler amongst the attackers, no one king that could be killed which would send the Orcs running like the beasts they were. Most of Ebulon’s allies had been wiped from the world before the attack had began, leaving King Yadi no other choice but to call for aid across all worlds. Ever since the dawn of his world, his lineage had known about the unique connection this world had to every other. The shadow of all worlds; his father had used this phrase to explain it to him when he was a young child.
He had known the dangers of calling for aid from foreign worlds. When walking through darkness you can call for help, but couldn’t completely control who heard such a plea. Hero was a loose term, there were Orcs that were considered heroes in their own ranks. But this consequence wasn’t amongst the demonic ranks that plagued his thoughts. He shouldn’t have been in his tower, he should have been out amongst his people, wielding his sword and fighting this wretched enemy. He could feel the weight of his crown within his hands; he had taken it off and then put it back on more times than he could count. He didn’t feel like a king sitting in this room, he felt like a coward. The weight of the crown in his hands was metaphorically flawless for it represented the weight of rule. He had had to beg for aid, a king should never be on his knees. But if it meant the survival of his kingdom he would bow to anyone, except the Orcs. He had been within his tower for almost two days, anxious and nervous the entire time. When he had heard the Orc drums he had been prepared to fight alongside his countrymen. He knew that the Orcs would attack every entry point of his city, that there was no way he could defend them one by one. But he had planned on being there, side by side his brave troops as they defended an entry point.
It had been drilled into his mind that in order to save his city, perfect strategy would be needed. As much as he desired the aid of foreign heroes he couldn’t count on them. Yet how quickly his strategy changed. With his own eyes he had been met with 50 warriors from another world, each strong and ready to defend a land that was not their own. He gladly would’ve fought alongside them until he was informed to hurry back to the Tower. There was once a time when his word would’ve been enough to keep his people loyal. But their fear and panic of utter destruction had rattled their minds. He had little choice but to do what was asked of him and returned to the Tower. He was shocked by what was waiting for him there, the severed head of Grock the King Killer. He had to touch its filthy skin before accepting the truth that a foreign warrior had killed the wicked fiend. He would have been honored to meet such a powerful soldier.