They followed Borik through their own sparsely inhabited section of the slums to a much more lively neighborhood. Ladies of the night, brutish-looking thugs, shady salesmen promising miracle items—all hung from shady alleyways and doorframes, watching the unlikely trio with malice in their eyes. I noticed that the only member of our party who avoided stares was Borik. I guess that was the respect a Bloody Face was due in parts like these.

  Eventually, we made our way to a large bar. The outside was both ornate and tacky, like a knife with a golden handle or a murderer in a suit. Flaking gold leaf, faux gems, and a sign that was only half-lit decorated the exterior. I think it was supposed to read ‘Fraternity of Buttercup’, but with the missing letters, it just said ‘Fat Butt’. Humorous, but I wasn’t sure if my hosts would be open to that kind of humor.

  As we entered the doors, all movement stopped and eyes turned to us. We were standing in a dimly lit, smoky room with at least fifty different orcs and half-orcs in every direction. All of them had red-jeweled or dyed tusks on display. They all also had extremely dangerous-looking weapons, or bodies that probably counted as weapons. There was a moment where I wondered if this is how my isekai story ended, but as if on cue, Borik waved cheerfully and all went back to their business of drinking, smoking, arguing over gambling, and groping bored-looking women.

  Borik led us to a small room off to the side, two burly orcs with axes as large as me in their hands waving us through. Inside there was a small conference table lit by torchlight. Borik gestured for Mug and Keggr to sit while removing a chair for me to have a place to stand.

  “Wait here. I’ll bring you fellows refreshments. Now, now, don’t say no! We’re the hosts, and you boys deserve a treat! Besides, it’ll go on your tabs.” With that, he disappeared through the door, leaving the three of us alone in the tiny room.

  Keggr moaned woefully the second the door closed, his hands on his bushy dwarven face.

  “Longleg pretendin’ to be a trashcan, what the hell have you gotten me into?” he lamented. Despite my nervousness at the situation, I found it in myself to pull forward a little indignation.

  ‘What did I get you into? Excuse me? No one told you to take a loan from the loan-sharkiest loan sharks to ever loan for building supplies! I can make building supplies! You knew that!’ He pressed his face into the table, which was sticky and burnt and suspiciously stained in multiple places.

  “I took loans from the Red Tusks dozens of times! They’ve always been fair before now! Only thing different is your metallic arse! What exactly you done that’s got 'em all hot and bothered, huh? What, you crap gold or something?” He moaned again, pressing his face even harder into the table. Well, I had forced him to come on account of this being his mess, but if this was going to be his attitude, then I should have left him with Aranya.

  I looked over at Mug, who looked surprisingly calm. He was swinging his legs and tapping his fingers on the table as he waited, his demeanor that of someone at the dentist rather than a den of murderers and thieves.

  ‘Mug, what gives? Why are you so calm?’ I asked him. He only shrugged, his little face completely at ease.

  “Master Lugenhelm, I used to visit all sorts of places with Edv—, that is, with Little Ed who is a weenie. The Red Tusks aren’t so bad, really. They only shoot arrows at my feet when they want me to dance. I think because I’m a goblin and they are orcs. A common ancestor, you know,” said the 5’10” “goblin” with tusks and biceps like cantaloupes. Sure.

  Before I could confront Mug on his shared ancestry (that is, telling him that orcs and other orcs of course share an ancestor), the door opened again and Borik entered followed by two new orcs. The first one appeared old; his beard was white and bushy, his hair long and braided, and his attitude one of complete control. He was smoking a thick cigar, and he was covered in ornate gold jewelry, complete with eyebrow and nose piercings.

  The second was much younger, appearing to be around his mid-forties. He was tall, even by orc standards—almost seven feet by my count—and lean and svelte. He moved like a big snake; smooth, steady, predatory. His eyes were even colder than Borik’s. While the older one nodded to us genially, this one examined us. I could feel him mentally assessing our threat before landing on “harmless by way of being easily killable.” It was not a good feeling.

  The older one sat down across from me, and Borik stood off to the side while the tall one leaned against the wall. The door opened again, and a human woman entered with her head down, bearing a tray of drinks, cigars, and grilled meat. She set it on the table then smoothly exited again. The older orc cleared his throat, taking a drink off the tray and quaffing it in one gulp before slamming it down on the table.

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  “Gentlemen! Hale and well met! So good you could join us! Have a beer, it tastes like piss! You smoke? Have a cigar! Hell, even if you don’t! Go on, please!” Keggr managed to lift his head enough to sip a beer and light a cigar. I guess some things even despair couldn’t spoil. Mug took both as well, though Borik had to stop him from lighting the wrong end of the cigar and he nearly choked on his first taste of beer. The older orc found this wildly funny, banging on the table so hard it made a new crack.

  “And you, Lugenhelm! Anything we can get for you? You’ll forgive our manners; we don’t get many holy spirits in this type—only spirits! Get it? Ha!” I did. I also didn’t miss the part where he knew my cover as a holy spirit. How much information did these guys have on me?

  ‘I’m on a diet right now, thanks. Only recyclables,’ I offered lamely. The old orc stopped before laughing even harder.

  “Did you hear that, Borik? On a diet! Now that is comedy! I told you I was going to like these boys, didn’t I tell you that?” Borik shrugged agreeably.

  “That you did, Toka. When you pick 'em, you really pick 'em.” Toka laughed once more before his face completely changed; from amused drunk uncle to unfeeling shark in the span of a second, his beady eyes focused on me.

  “Lugenhelm. I won’t beat around the bush. Name’s Toka. Think of me as the duke of this part of Advalence. You’ve met my Bloodied Face. The tall fellow is my brother, Othin. Me and him run this little operation. Outsiders call it the Red Tusks. This thing we have. Got it?” I did, and I let him know.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Duke Toka, but what exactly are we here for? As in, what do you need us to do? And why us? Surely some of your, er, subjects could do anything we could, and twice as good, I might add.’ He grunted and took a long drag of his cigar, the orange ember illuminating his craggy face.

  “Before we continue, let’s get some things straight. Once I start giving details, you three are on the hook. No ifs, ands, or buts. So, unless you got my gold to wipe the debt, you’re working for me. Got it?” I silently cursed whatever safeguards stopped me from Recycling gold as I agreed. Toka leaned back and took another long drag.

  “Alright then. What we need you to do is pick up a package. It’s in the old sewer systems, the ones from when this city was run by dark elves. Unfortunately, the drop-off point goes under The Eyeballs’ territory.”

  ‘The Eyeballs?’ I asked, directing my voice at Keggr. He moaned again, sounding even more defeated than he had before.

  “A troll gang, and a nasty one at that. Call themselves Eyeballs on account of that’s their favorite part to, ya know, repossess when someone owes ‘em. Grisly stuff.” Mug nodded to confirm Keggr’s information.

  “They also like fingers! Little Ed, who is a weenie, used to tell me stories at night of things they would do to their enemies—to help me sleep—and fingers were also usually featured!” I could always count on Mug to tell me a horrifying story from his past. Toka lit another cigar from the stub of his current one.

  “Yeah, that’s them all right. Normally I’d send some boys out and call it a day, but lately they got a new leader. Real bloodthirsty type. Kinda guy that sees eyeballs as the entrée and not the main course like they used to. Now, maybe some of my boys could sneak in and back and they’d be none the wiser—but trolls got great noses. If they managed to sniff out some Tusks lurking around their sewers… well, they’d hit hard, and we’d have to hit harder, and before you know it the streets are red and the city guard is out patrolling, and none of that is conducive to good business.” So, we were the hired mercenaries used for plausible deniability; made sense but didn’t really inspire confidence.

  ‘What’s in the package?’ I asked innocently, regretting the question the moment it echoed from my inside. I couldn’t feel temperatures normally, but I swear it got about twenty degrees colder. Othin tensed, Borik leaned back, and Toka seemed to bristle and swell in size as his muscles flexed.

  “What’s in it? Easy. What’s in it is mine, got it? Not yours, not The Eyeballs', mine. Meaning, only I get to see or know, got it?” I internally gulped.

  ‘Got it. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.’ He snorted and waved his massive hand, blue smoke curling around his fingers like snakes.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Anyways, Borik here can give you boys a map—you go today. The package should be a redwood crate with an iron lock and a seal of a kraken engraved on it. Maybe as heavy as an anvil. Any questions? No? Good.” I actually did have questions but decided not to push my luck.

  Toka nodded grimly at us before standing up, his easy smile returning as quickly as it had left. He clapped Keggr on the back and grabbed another cup off the tray.

  “Well alright then! Glad we could come to an agreement! Get my crate and bring it back here and make sure no Eyeballs see ya doing it! Easy enough, right lads! No reason to be so glum—you’d think you were going to a funeral!” He laughed heartily and walked out of the room before waiting for an answer. Othin stalked behind him but stopped at the door to turn and face us.

  “It should go without saying, but in the interest of understanding I’ll say it: come back with the crate, or not at all. We will give you a day, which is generous. Do not waste it.” His words were monotone but somehow also menacing. I wondered if he was strong enough to break steel, then I looked at his scarred knuckles and realized the answer to my own unasked question. He spun and smoothly left, closing the door gently, leaving us alone with Borik. He cleared his throat, stood up, and produced a grimy map from inside his tunic.

  “Well boys! Ready for a little sightseeing?”