Orcs in the Mist

By Raven Angstrom

Legends say a mythical tribe of orcs live deep in the misty jungles of Orison. Raz, the strapping, intrepid explorer from Whitebridge, has been sent into the jungle to make peaceful first contact. Whitebridge scholars call it a fool's errand; Raz alone has the conviction to thrust into the unknown.

In the dense forest, he finds Violet, a curvy, secretive orc with plans of her own. As Raz immerses himself in Orison, their ideas about first contact clash, and Raz sinks deeper into orc culture. Will he make it home, or will the jungle change him forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raven Angstrom
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223475156

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Copyright © 2023 by Raven Angstrom

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This is a work of fiction. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

First edition 2023

Orcs in the Mist

by Raven Ångstrom

Raz sank under a mossy mangrove tree in the sweltering Orison Jungle. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his piercing blue eyes. He dabbed his brow with the handkerchief he always kept in his pocket. It was a gift from the Queen of Whitebridge herself, his initials R.D. boldly embroidered with gold stitching on the rich purple fabric.

He removed his pith helmet and fanned himself under the mighty tree. By his estimation, it was at least 500 years old. He was probably the first human to touch it, certainly the first to use it as a chair.

Raz stretched his weary bones. He was rugged, with long auburn hair and a shaggy, unkempt beard. He wasn’t overly muscular, but his body was toned and he possessed the endurance of a horse. His skin was tanned from years of sun exposure, a tan that faded when he was back home in Whitebridge.

With a large, calloused hand, Raz grabbed his journal from his overstuffed backpack and scratched in an entry.

Another day in this gods-forsaken jungle. No sign of the mystical orc civilization. I’ve been crawling through this malaria-infested hellhole for over a fortnight. There’s nothing in these trees but predators and prey. And I’m feeling more like prey everyday.

Raz took a swig of his canteen and examined his bandaged arm. Two days ago he encountered a nest of scythmonks — fiercely territorial rodents with big teeth. He counted himself lucky to have escaped with only a slash on the arm. He undid the bandage to inspect the wound, and was assaulted by the stench of rotting flesh. The wound had festered.

He applied what little antiseptic he had left, wincing as his flesh burned. He replaced the bandage with a fresh one, binding it tight to keep disease out. Illness hung in the air like a fog. Orison wasn’t a place for city folk. Despite the discomfort, Raz was in his element.

As a top explorer for the Royal Society of Whitebridge, he thrust himself into the unknown with reckless abandon. Discovery was his aim: plants, animals, other sentient species. Last year he had made contact with the elusive Giant tribe that lived in the Archway Mountains. No human had seen them in years. For unearthing their location, Raz won a knighthood for his diplomatic efforts. Soon, the first Whitebridge trading caravan would be following in his footsteps, bringing wealth and goods to both species.

Impressed with his success, the Royal Society demanded another miracle. He was sent South, to the jungles of Orison. His mission was to find the mysterious orcs, said to live in this dense forest. A boat transported him from Whitebridge to the port city of Minosin, on Orison’s Western coast. From there, Raz set off alone into the jungle.

The Royal Society was playing a joke on me sending me to this dark place. After my success finding the giantess Ahor and her clan, they think I can’t pull off another big discovery. I’m determined to show them. Even if I can’t bring back an orc, I’ll find a blue tiger, or a rainbow hoopoo, or

He felt six spindly legs crawling up his arm, and he reflexively slapped the intruder away. He sighed out loud. At this rate all I’m bringing back is malaria, Raz said to himself. Alone in the jungle, he was the only person worth talking to.

Raz took another swig of water from his canteen. Out of the corner of his eye, the bushes rustled. He froze. Two great purple eyes stared at him from within the bush.

Raz cautiously put the canteen on the ground and screwed on the cap. The purple eyes blinked. He checked his arm; the bandage was secure. Slowly, his hand stretched toward his machete.

With a burst of speed, Raz leapt from under the