Last Meal at Homebound: Part III

They called him BuggRust ever since he was around five or six winters old, he couldn't remember exactly what his age was then, just as he didn't know exactly how old he was now. BuggRust guessed that he was around forty, but as his father used to say, "Guessing is just as likely to get you a handful of cakk as it is a fistful of gold when reaching into a dragon's bum."

That saying never made sense to BuggRust, but neither did much else his father said or did. BuggRust sometimes felt guilty about killing him nonetheless, even if his father was indirectly responsible for giving him his commonly accepted, though hated, name.

He was born with a different one, long forgotten by those who knew him before he was called what he is today. A name that may have eventually led to more respect among his peers, BuggRust wasn't sure, but the name he went by now didn't exactly evoke terror into those who heard it. Not like the name Tonguescum, now that was a scary name! One that commanded respect.

BuggRust earned his name due to a pair of physical traits, one natural, and the other unnatural. One he always had and one he acquired, a gift from his dearly departed father, you could say.

BuggRust was born with healthy green skin, normal for most orcs from his place of birth, over most of his body. However, his face, scalp and most of the tops of his shoulders were a deep rust-brown, which was not. This made him stand out like an oak in the Pinefore, giving him the kind of unwanted attention that makes a child, even an orc-child, grow bitter and angry with age.

When BuggRust had seen around five winters (again, he couldn't remember exactly how many) his father had witnessed him weeping in the woods after taking a particularly bad beating from older orc-males in the tribe. When he had heard his son's pathetic excuse for this show of weakness he snatched BuggRust by his filthy collar, dragged him to the closest rain-barrel and dunked his head. Drowning the orc-boy until he lost consciousness in an effort to "toughen him up". This act became routine until BuggRust reached adolescence, the constant toll of air deprivation caused blood vessels in his face to burst, over and over again. The frequency of attempted drownings never allowing his face to fully heal. The damage permanently manifested itself as a blue-colored web pattern across his already rusty cheeks, nose and forehead. The orc-children in his tribe would tell him that it looked like "a giant spider-bugg cakked all over your face". Henceforth, he was known as BuggRust.

As he grew older BuggRust delighted in killing many of those children, as well as their families.

It was the screams he heard now, those of the barbarian villagers dying all around him that reminded him of those dead orcs. Reminded him of his childhood, and how he came to be called by his name. The chill on the cold wind brought his thoughts back to the glory of the present.

BuggRust hated it here.

He had followed Tonguescum to this place all the way from the south end of the foothills of The Broken Lands. The weather was nicer there. The sun shined most of the time, food was easier to find and he never had to worry about wearing itchy bear hide over his thick, green skinned arms and legs. But here? Here it was always cold! Even when it was warm it was still cold! Snow, all the time. Never any beef to eat as he hadn't seen a bovine in years. Always deer, always chewy, gamey venison. No fat, no flavor! BuggRust found that he even missed potatoes, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone. And ale was sparse too, this was probably worst of all. Occasionally they'd raid the odd caravan that would have a keg or two and sometimes Fengis would bring them some, but he charged a lot for it, and Boss Tonguescum said it made the other orcs, um, less focused anyway. Whatever that meant. BuggRust just thought that not having ale made him focus more on wishing he had some. Maybe that's what the boss wanted. Who knows?

He came to Lurz Ghazrach with Tonguescum, stood behind him when The Boss took the outpost for himself. Watched intently as The Boss challenged and crushed his helpless predecessor, subsequently installing himself as "Chieftain". Though BuggRust didn't care about any of that he had followed The Boss for years and, at that time, didn't expect to stop any time soon. He was Boss Tonguescum's right-hand-orc after all and certain privileges came with such prestige. Privileges he enjoyed and took advantage of at every opportunity.

But lately, those privileges just didn't appeal as much as they once did and BuggRust's feet had acquired the itch of wanderlust. This tribe he and The Boss lorded over had been dominant for so long in this area that he'd become bored and longed for the fights that were going on in the south. Wanted to war again with the dwarves that thought they'd have a chance reclaiming their "Homeland". (Orcs had always been there and he couldn't understand what the dwarves were so upset about, but he didn't mind, as long as he got to kill dwarves.) He wanted to make war with the humans in Westheath, ravage their women and maybe even eat some of their babies. Human babies did taste better than deer after all. Tasted a little like chicken actually, but without feathers, which tasted bad.

Truthfully he wanted to be anywhere. Anywhere but here but Tonguescum wanted him to wait. "Something's coming," he would say "Gruumsh himself, came to me in a dream. Told me to come here and wait for a stranger." BuggRust would get a little scared when The Boss would talk like that, made him think that The Boss might have a few pebbles loose in that boulder of his. But then he'd go on, and it'd just get worse: "Gruumsh said, 'Go north, and wreak havoc there. A messenger will come and tell you of your mission. Your destiny will bring about a new era of fear of our kind. Destroy or unite what clans you can and kill those that stand in your way.'" Then, The Boss's eyes would glaze over as he would finish:"Then Gruumsh said to me: 'Your reward, will be a glorious death in battle, remembered by all orcs.'"

BuggRust thought The Boss took it all a little too seriously. Thought that maybe The Boss had taken a hard whack to the head that never fully healed, like BuggRust's own facial scars, but he waited alongside him anyway. BuggRust's loyalty only went so far, but Tonguescum was nice to have around in a fight.

But that was all about to change, BuggRust was leaving tonight, after this final raid. He hadn't told The Boss yet, and didn't plan to. Though he suspected that Tonguescum thought him up to something. Boss always knew stuff like that. Traditionally it was probably more acceptable for BuggRust to challenge Tonguescum in a fight to the death in order to become Chief. But BuggRust wasn't stupid, nor was he even interested in being Chief here. Gruumsh never came to him in any dream, telling him to wait for some stupid stranger. And even if Gruumsh did come, BuggRust wasn't thrilled with the idea of his "Great Reward" being death. Even if it was glorious. BuggRust was no coward, but he wasn't ready to die yet, for The Boss or anyone else.

Nope, he'd had enough of waiting, of being number two. He'd grown tired of venison, tired of snow, of cold. Tired of the same orc women, tired of longing for the sweet smell and sweeter taste of a human woman and the sound of her screams. Hoped he'd get a chance at one before he departed for his great journey.

This raid would sate him, but he knew it would only be fleeting. While Tonguescum and his group razed the northern human village it was BuggRust's job to destroy and pillage this one. Once finished, Tonguescum would make him wait, again. Make the tribe wait until The Stranger came back. BuggRust didn't feel like waiting for The Stranger, after all he was... strange.


BuggRust knew that if he didn't leave tonight, under cover of night and the remnants of the blizzard, with The Boss and his other bodyguards distracted by victory celebration (not that there'd be any ale), he likely never would. It was almost time now. Almost time to leave this barren, wretched wasteland for warmer climes and fairer species. Not to mention better food, like human babies.

Approaching the only tavern in the wretched little town, BuggRust found himself thanking Gruumsh for giving him the strength to notch six more barbarian lives upon the flat of his falchion blade. He promised more barbarian lives to Gruumsh if he helped him successfully make it out of here and start his journey southward. Not that he'd need any help from a deity as the day's work had been easy up to this point and he didn't foresee any reason, making his way toward the steps to Homebound with five orcs flanking him, that this should change.

Approaching the tavern door, hearing a woman scream inside as one of his grunts threw a flaming tar flask through a side window he smiled, thinking he just might get that human woman to smell and taste before his journey after all.

His rust-colored, spider-webbed face grinned through rotting, broken teeth. BuggRust gripped his battle-worn falchion with his right hand as he reached with his blood-crusted left for the tavern door's wooden latch. He couldn't wait to see what waited for him beyond it.