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CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 11

I can remember longing for a cigar my first year after gate hopping into Carnival World.
When I walked into the camp when the Conner Corp people first camped, before designing the buildings, inside the huge Cyclopean walls of the Atlanticean force-shield canopy, one of them was smoking a nice Cuban cigar.

The burning tang of that smoke, with a hint of rum, just set me a hankering for one and brought back a rush of memories of furloughs, smoke, laughter and the icy tinkle of whiskey cokes with my Cryptid Four buds.

I stepped through the shield archway door when I saw and heard the signal that the force field had weakened. The grating snap of metal, forced into action, and the softer swish of leather straps against uniform fabric greeted me, along with several flashes of sunlight on gunmetal as eight machine rifles and a Glock pistol instantly covered me. Looked like M107 50 cals and an expensive officer special Glock 19 handgun.

I held my hands up, my Half Elf ears were covered by a panther skin cap. I smiled widely and said slowly, “Hayloo the fayer! Aaniin! Mayya Iya cumma eeen?”
“He seems friendly enough,” offered one of the civilian scientists. I watched as the soldiers slowly lowered their rifles after that comment. The officer scowled around his cigar. I noted his emblems. Airborne Ranger. Colonel. He chomped his stogie and snapped at me, “Come to the fire slowly! No sudden moves or we… will… kill you! And you wouldn’t be the first dead intruder we’ve wet worked.”

Most of the other doors had two guards posted by them. This one, not too far from the fire pit, had not.
Flawlessly working my undercover persona, it took a bit of jawing and gesturing to be understood. And speaking slower multiple times, the communication had gone well.
Just informing Conner Corp Rangers and scientists that the doorway shields weakened for a few minutes randomly in a twenty-four-hour period, and how to look and listen for the hum and flash that preceded the opening, made me useful to them. Anyway, I understood the Conner Corp people well from the start but did my best to hide the fact. I used that muddled broken English and a couple of off kilter Ojibwe phrases, then threw in a few of the Elvish words that had been programmed into my mind by Nayana Zazazi’s AI Med Tech Device, that came along with my Half Elf makeover.

Not long after that I was able to join them, for company credit, to advise them about the Borderlands and the Badlands and help with construction. By that time, I started slowly, day by day, talking more like them and using less accent or off kilter Ojibwe or Elven words.

One of my first purchases from the commissary of the military attachment had been a small box of Swisher Sweets.
Yes, they were very beholden to me for showing them the trick for bypassing the forcefield archways. Later, however, their scientists found a way to integrate a key card system to bypass the shields that covered the arched doorways, several of them, that followed equidistantly around the circumference of the great Cyclopean wall that surrounded the Star Portal enclosure. Later a retina scanner feature was added to the key card system.

To the southeast, one side of the great encircling wall had a raised granite blockhouse that ran the length of the eastern wall, that had a long docking bay. It held two skip jacks, the ancient Atlanticean scout ships and a blimp, that while different, was common to those found on earth, and the helium seemed to be able to refresh itself.
Of course, I did not know that when I had first met Conner Corp, but now that I have lived in Carnival City for a while, I am able to relay that information.
Until I came, that first day to their camp, not much, except the Skels could get in, although they had caught a pair of goblins skulking about one morning along the inner north wall, but Conner Corp were boxed in and couldn’t get out at all. The domed roof of the edifice was shielded by the transparent force-field and while the arched doorways seemed to have issues with losing shield strength, momentarily, throughout the day, the dome did not evidence any deterioration.

In time they would have figured it out, but I can’t deny it gave me valuable information. And sometimes information is more valuable than gold or weapons.
The rock wall with the transparent shield top covered an area about the size of four football field stadiums, including parking lot infrastructure, but oval, and their gate was in the center.
When I had first met the Conner Corp group around their fire, the southeastern quarter, just as the rest of the inner oval, was a wide, flat, softly rolling expanse of dewy green grass that sparkled under the pleasantly warm afternoon sun’s rays. The smell of fresh cut grass was a pleasant surprise that reminded me of homes I had lived in back on earth. Even though the mowers were not out, my mind filled in the associated sounds of the powerful steady humming of the revolving blades, and the constant blowing swish of propelled cuttings.
It seems that Conner Corp had been here long enough to import a couple of riding lawnmowers and had cleared the southeast corner, which in the future would house the various shops and inns. I noticed that they had also mowed a few swaths around the entire inner perimeter around the great wall but had not yet mowed the entire interior area.
Now it held a few large military TEMPER (Tent Extendable Modular Personnel) tents and a smaller DRASH (Deployable Rapid Assembly Shelter) which seemed at present to be a general supplies tent, manned by a tall, quadroon girl, with a crewcut exposed under her beret. A short walk away from the DRASH were six dark green plastic porta-potties.
One TEMPER was set for mess and another for the barracks area, divided by gender, and occupation. My guess was that the nonmilitary officer scientists had their own section separate from the soldiers. Military personnel who were also scientists or engineers would have shared their barracks with the standard marines. It seemed to my trained eye, as I looked around the camp at the guards posted around the other archway doors, that some of them were special forces and some of them were military regulars.

Another TEMPER, or so I would guess from glancing from a distance, in through an open flap, held science labs, a power generator, and a few computer stations.
The last TEMPER unit, one a bit larger than the others, seemed to be the military command center.

In the center, opposite the open star portal, but closest to the mess tent, was a long campfire with a few picnic tables and a fired-up firepit with several cords of imported firewood stacked just out of sparking distance. The Tempers were most likely made of special fire-retardant materials that would quickly quell if fire did make contact.

Crouching out of sight, in thick brush, carefully checking with my field glasses, trying to tone down lens flash, I used the ones handcrafted by the hobbit village smith and gadgeteer. Quietly I hunkered down and waited for the forcefield to weaken over the southernmost eastern archway.

During past reconnoitering of the area, I had scouted the exterior of the great wall a few times since coming from earth almost a year ago.
The north and south wall each had four archways that led out onto a broad cobblestone road, but the stones were the color of light brown sand with tiny pinhead to pinpoint spots of red, green, white, and black flecks.

Totally different than the creamy light blue cobblestones of the far-flung smoky mountain trails or gray, black, and burnt sienna of the Naga or Feathered Serpent Mountain trail cobblestones. Cobblestones around the Star Portal Edifice were almost immaculate, after what I expect is one thousand or twice that many years of use.

Sounds impossible, but most of the scholars I had talked with years later hypothesized the same but leaned to my largest parameter.

The east wall, which was under the docking bay, had three doors. That is where I had been concealed a quick sprint away from the southernmost door of the eastern wall watching inside, waiting for my opportunity, before first meeting the Conner Corp advance team.

The western wall, which led to the crumbled castle and an expansive walled and gated cemetery had, as well, three arched exits into the star portal field.
Well, they, the nocturnal cemetery residents, could walk to the southwest corner and use that entrance. They have never entered by the northwestern corner, Wolf Den Overlook, in my time here.

Well, technically that is not a door, but a flat spot at the bottom of the wall, with a large opening, in that section of oval wall, where you could look over the cliff into the picturesque valley of Wolf’s Den. The shield had been working, when the advance team had first reconnoitered here, but before the Carnival Theme Park had been finished, the force-field had totally degenerated at that point.

Mostly the wolves stayed down by the den at the bottom of the valley. Yes, it was possible, but challenging, for wolves to charge up the steep slope and then make the great leap from the steep cliff top over the guard rail up and onto the wooden deck. Once the force-field had degenerated, anyway.

From time to time a wolf or two had interrupted a Conner’s Carnival game, but it was a rare event. But that is one reason why Paladins and Bounty Hunters now help watch over the game area, which had long ago been patrolled by Earth Special Ops marines and rangers assigned to the Conner Corp project. And of course, visiting “native” players are not soft, rich visitors from earth, but people who by choice have crossed the dangerous Borderlands to visit the fair and they’ve survived more than a couple of curious wolves.
Previously, before the game, it had just been a bare opening. Later, during the first edition of the game, double sided swinging gliding benches, that had looked out onto the rest of the carnival board in one direction and out over the hanging valley in the opposite direction, had been added.

The floor had been painted to resemble the famous trademarked Monopoly Game’s free parking space of planet earth fame. Earth visitors were usually found to eagerly explain to any curious Carnival World natives how the Free Parking Space or the game Monopoly, played on earth, worked.
Conners Carnival Game players when entering this space, had an option to rest their legs, after having walked around the Conner’s Carnival, larger than life, “game board.”
This “corner” of the oval Star Portal Edifice was not accessible via the horseshoe shaped cobblestone road that followed the exterior of the great wall. The northwest corner of the star portal edifice was positioned precariously over a hanging valley below.

A safety railing had been across the opening, once the force field had totally degenerated, but in such a way as to minimize blocking the view. The railing had been placed there to prevent careless Conner’s Carnival players or employees, from falling off the board into the depths of Wolf Den valley below.

A few years into the carnival, following a beautification and remodeling project, for the second edition remodel of the Carnival Game board area, the swinging glider benches were replaced with umbrella patio tables and the old-fashioned auto with its spare tire on back, repainted onto the new stained wood deck.

The section of domed force shield there, on the overlook patio, with its colorful umbrella tent patio tables, had always displayed the hum and little flashes associated with the lapsing that occurred randomly over the multiple open archways of the great oval wall. Not just randomly, in a twenty-four-hour period, but constantly. Had the force field still worked in this section, there probably would have been little need for a safety railing.

Not too far away on the outside, about twenty minutes’ walk, east of the path that led to the Sparky Fey village, was the half acre forest of rolling scrub elm hills full of spider webs and nests. And they weren’t just little spiders. Bigger ones were about three feet around sitting a meter high on eight long spike tipped exoskeleton legs.

West of that, and at least thirty minutes’ walk, lived the Sparky Fey villagers. They were small blue-haired, white skinned humanoids, supposedly designed by the Atlanticeans to serve as guardians to make the forests like parks. All the adults had rods with blue gems, that shot lightning bolts. Since they had a mental sleep command and Teleport Other ability, they rarely used the advanced technology rod weapon.

They were able to make advanced technology items work that seemed to have lost their power, from elemental rod weapons to anti-gravity belts, that no other race seemed to be able to use.
While mischievous and wont to put people to sleep and teleport them inside the star portal area, they were a kind, good natured people, who mostly served Creator. For several hours after being Fey-ported, one could freely enter and exit the Cyclopean Wall archways as if the force shields were down. Evil Fey, of all four sub races, who turned from Creator to the snake gods, literally became insane, grew horns, needle sharp teeth, and a barbed tail, and fled from the presence of good-aligned Fey.

In future years, when St. Patrick opened his cathedral, dozens of them would pass through the force fields with ease. Now that would be a good Bard’s tale to share with you. I would like to do that right now! However, since that would be a good example of putting the cart before the horse, I promise, as soon as possible, we will share that wonderful story in the history of Carnival City. So, after a quick break, boys and girls, doggies and kitties, we will introduce my first Bounty Hunter, Ghordo the Half Orc!

Thanks again folks, for visiting the Adventurer’s Inn and Bounty Hunter’s Guild of yours truly, Orlando Bard! See you all tomorrow!

 

CARNIVAL WORLD, CHAPTER 12

What was that? Oh. How did I meet Ghordo, Padre, and Mystica?

Well, that’s a bit much to explain just now, but for tonight, as promised, I will regale you all with the tale of how I met up with Ghordo.

We’ll start back during that first year when I was rambling north of Carnival City, toward the bottom of one of the mountain trails.

I came up to one of those Orc strongholds. I could hear someone going hammer and tongs with what sounded like a big ore pick. The echo was traveling across the mountains and making quite a ruckus. Scared a buck I was just about to bag.

Irritated by that loss, and just the sheer vexation of trying to find a way up, off the main trail, I was already miffed.

Frustrated, I kept coming up to sheer cliffs and dead ends. I backtracked several times. I was seriously thinking about giving up. Wouldn’t doubt if I meandered around three quarters of that small foot-hill mountain. Finally found a path up to where I could hear the clanging sounds of that mining loud and clear. And then I promptly dead-ended. So, I looked for another way up.
Not much track activity, in some of those trails. No humanoid sign. Just a lot of hoof prints and small animal sign, heading towards a spring or patch of graze or berry bushes. I’m not a great tracker, but I learned a bit from my First Nations uncle.

He’d taught me a lot, although my dad taught me a few things, too. Environmental factors can cause a different outcome, but usually back on earth and here in Carnival World, at least in the northern hemisphere part, moss will usually grow on the north side of a tree.

Insects, birds, and small animals often fly or scurry in the direction of water or food. Following those traces wouldn’t necessarily guide me to my goal of finding where that noise was coming from, but I needed to check all the options until eventually I came up on a trail that led me up to who or whomever was banging rocks.

When I got to where it sounded like it was just a little way away, again, another dead end! I kept soldiering on as the old saying goes, ‘round the mountain,’ then I would hear only silence – nature sounds, but no clanging. Further on I’d climb a trail, and then I would hear the banging only dimly. Over and over. Ad infinitum. I’m not a fan of cliff-scaling and I don’t have the equipment. If it is steep, but I can hike it, I am fine. But clawing for finger and toeholds on a sheer cliff – I am not interested.

Finally, I found a path that went all the way to the Orc Stronghold. The fort with its eighteen foot plus high timber walls, with sharp, bladed spikes, to discourage ropes and ladders. Each upright timber was buried deep into the ground, then mounted on each segment of the uprights. The armored timber was gated with an iron reinforced double door that would take a great battering ram to break. Good luck getting one up here. Maybe with the Carnival City blimp or skip jack!

The fort was backed up against the sheer cliff wall of the next mountainside. There was a hogsback ridge on top of their mountain. Looked like an old meteor strike from ancient times. Not a big one, but lots of little debris and a few medium size thrusts from space.

Catwalks connected the armored guard posts that towered over the spiked fort wall timbers. There was also a long connecting walkway from the guard posts to that higher cliff face with what looked like a mine cavern. I could see and hear, in the distance, the Orc who had been hammering his pick against an outcropping of rock. There were probably more Orcs inside the cave engaged in mining as well.

Around the outsides of the fort were also small gardens of corn, peas, green beans, lettuce, potatoes, carrots, onions, parsnips, and a few items that I had been unable to identify during my short visit.

There were animals I had seen here on Carnival World that I’d only read about in books as a boy, long absent from the face of the earth. Wildlife I never heard of, but not seen a lot also lived here. Strange things, I have never seen, even in my later years. Nor was there any evidence that Carnival World ever had horses. Not sure how the Atlanticean scientists found donkey DNA for making the donkey centaurs. Creator knows. Unicorns, now extinct, once lived on Carnival World but not horses. Both the equestrian and enormous wooly rhinoceros’ types, but they were rare before the Monster Men war, and except as Centaurs and Rhinoid beast men, did not survive the war in their original forms.

Although there are a few, small rhinos, black two-horned, and single horned, bone white, and dark grey, on Carnival World that are a little larger than the African kind like we had back on earth. Twice as large in the Badlands of Antari north and south. The largest rhino that ever lived here, taller than a giraffe and heavier than four elephants, and with lips designed to eat grass or browse trees for leaves, is long extinct. That’s the Linxia Hornless Giant Rhino. It died out in the age before the Atlanticeans, as did the Dragon and Gator headed reptilians that lived in the Angkor Wat type buildings of the far north and south. While their former tenants have long ago made their exit, the crumbled ruins of the long and sprawling brobobdingnagian and stone complexes, large as small cities, now are homes to animals and giants.

Doesn’t matter much to me. About the horses. I’m not into the horse and pony show. When I was back on earth, I didn’t mind admiring the fine lines of a good quarter horse or even the sight of scruffy, nimble little wild mustangs. My mother’s father had traded in his horses for a pickup. I was like that, more interested in owning a truck than a horse.
All these memories flooded my mind as I inspected those Orc gardens in the fields on top of that mountain ridge – a small, fairly flat section, that was tucked around that fort. Green grass and plenteous mounds of garden flora, sat, leaves waving softly in the breeze, in the wide-open mouth of blue gray mountain cliffs.

The gardens were not arranged in rows like I had been accustomed to seeing back on earth. Instead, each plant was planted in a hill of two or three stalks of corn. Climbing plants, like beans and cucumbers had their vines wound up onto the corn. Squash and melons of at least two varieties and pineapples had been placed on their own hills a bit away from the other fruits and vegetables. There was also an orchard of pears, apples, and plums, as well as a purple grape vineyard, to the left of the fort, up under the edge of the upper cliff that rose behind the fort.
When I approached the fort and asked permission to enter, a female Orc held up her crossbow and leaned it warningly through the blockhouse arrow ports. Dressed in what looked like a green and black chest mail piece, she yelled, “Go away raw milk drinker! We don’t allow non-Orcs here,” in a strangely accented American English.

I replied, “I am not your enemy. Isn’t there some way I can meet with your people and trade for some vegetables or some kind of fighting axe or mace? I’ve got gems and gold!”
A burly male guard in the next block house laughed menacingly and snarled, in his guttural, deep voice, “Get your ‘effin’ half-elf meat carcass out of here! What part of ‘not welcome,’ does your puny, moronic mind, not understand?”

“Your loss,” I had commented as I turned around and walked away, hoping that I wouldn’t suddenly become a human…noid, I mean Half-Elf, pin cushion.
“What a monumental waste of time!” I grumbled as I made my way back down the mountainside to the main mountain path.

Several months later, as I had roughly framed and covered the starter house for my inn, that Orc stronghold visit, like proverbial “bread cast on the waters” became a return on my investment of time and energy. Soon I could exit the expensive Conner’s Suite rooms, before actually having my inn up and running. That was what was on my mind, and I had no idea I was about to be visited by one of Carnival World’s famous couriers with a message that would change my life. That Orc courier came to one of the northern entrances of the Star Portal Cyclopean wall, after having been paid handsomely to bring me a message from that Orc stronghold where I had been so rudely and callously ordered away.

The Orc was young, and slenderer than most of his race that I’ve met. The courier had a light, though well-tanned, olive green, rather than medium or dark green skin, which meant, along with his narrow frame, that his parents had probably been a half-orc and a full human. The more Orcish the blood, the darker the green of their complexion. Half Orc skin was usually a medium green while a full Orc had skin of forest green. He was dressed in the standard costume of the Couriers Guild – soft clothing of dark brown, a gender-neutral blouse and short pants and red mail pouch. Couriers also wore a red pommeled Atlanticean dagger and the scarlet Atlanticean Bracers of Effortless Speed.

There was strange technology at work in the advanced technology bracers. Anyone who was not a courier who put on the bracers, ran like the wind, but could not see and did not benefit from the endurance boost or protective force field. Humanoids who were not Couriers would fall, exhausted and immobile, not too far ahead of their first steps, if wearing the red courier’s guild bracers.

The scarlet knife, both the blade and hilt, were brilliant red chrome, stronger than diamond, and possessed a strange technological “curse.” It was very heavy and unwieldy in the hands of anyone who was not a guild courier. My guess is that the ancient Atlanticeans had programed the knives and bracers in such a way as to limit the value of these arms and armor to anyone but a courier.

And after a thousand years all of those scarlet knives and bracers were still working, although a few had been lost. Even Manta Fey Crystalins, if they attempted to eat, a Courier’s knife, or metal-studded leather bracer, would instantly gag and regurgitate the Couriers bracers or knife. To become the final two ranks of knight, Manta Fey Crystalins had to digest at least one Atlanticean armor piece or weapon. Manta Fey routinely eat Star Metal, but not the Courier’s paraphernalia. No matter how you unpack it, it doesn’t make sense but…
You could always identify Atlanticean metal. It came in a variety of chrome colors except silver and white. Fake Atlanticean chrome items would scratch. You couldn’t scratch genuine Atlanticean metal with a diamond and, except in the jaws of a Manta Fey, it did not dull, dent or break. Manta Fey needed slag metal, which occurred rarely, when old Atlanticean Star Metal, that had lost its inner power, was blown up in a powerful explosion. I scoured Nayana Zazazi’s library on how Atlanticean weapons and armor were crafted, and I had found information about them, but no clues as to their design.

I have a theory, but no proof. I think the Atlanticean Scientists designed a special replicator machine, that at a quantum level, designed the weapon or armor. The scientist would program the building of the artifact with some kind of very advanced cad drawing computer program or by selecting an item from a menu. When it was finished, the item was three-dimensionally printed out into our reality – not piece by piece, but as one completed unit. Just like food appeared, on plates and in containers, on the serving table of the food replicator unit, the Weapon, Armor, and Tool Replicator would print out an item and it would appear nearby. Each “living” Atlanticean Star Metal item had a resonance, different than that of the Rose Granite, or harmonic sandstone.

And the armor changes size and shape to fit its user. I don’t think that ability to fit a person is infinite. For example, it may shrink to fit a Fey, but would not shrink small enough to fit a tiny twelve-inch high Puk. It might enlarge to fit an Orc, a Nordic Elf, or a Mountain Barbarian, and maybe even a humanoid Sabe of eight feet tall and may even change to fit a giant of twelve feet tall, but not one of twenty feet tall. Or it may be programmed to change for a Fey, Hobbit, Human, Elf or Dwarf, but not a giant or a hybrid. I don’t know. Creator knows.
Nayana Zazazi’s private lab and study had a few secret rooms. I appeared through a portable Star Portal into the scientist’s lab that contained physical book and scroll bookshelves as well as crystal skull libraries. The lab also contained an Advanced Technology Full System, Regenerating, and Cloning, Med Bed. After the AI had made me into a Half Elf looking human, staying as close as possible to my genetic pattern, I could not only see the secret doors, but if I merely touched Sakki Nayana Zazazi’s entrances, they would open of their own volition and close behind me.

Among his collection of animal specimens in jars, and mysterious artifacts, were several round video monitors, the pictures were a brownish tintype, not colored. Each monitor portrayed a moving picture of a desert land which looked very much like lands I had visited in New Mexico and the Grand Canyon. Normal sized native people and giants, as well as Egyptian royalty were displayed on one. I definitely recognized that one as the Grand Canyon cave that I had been sent to explore as an Anomalies Investigator, which housed the Star Portal device from Earth!
His private chambers had a Med Bed sleeping unit, for gentle and slow, mind and body healing, and a food replicator. His food replicator had an extensive touch screen menu above the unit. Using the food replicator, which created just about anything at the molecular level, with Zero Point Energy, food would be created without inputting any base materials. That gave me the idea as to how they may have had a similar unit that designs objects: armor, weapons, tools, furniture… You get the picture.
There was a small digital screen which contained miscellaneous information about any food product created, with a small picture of what it should look like and its nutritional quality. If something looked wrong, you could press your finger against a symbol in the top left corner of that digital screen, and the machine would recalibrate itself. While occasionally the user had to command a maintenance robot to analyze or compare some of these advanced machines, nanobots within these machines as necessary self-repaired many problems that occurred as parts wore out or needed replacement.

Back to the Courier’s Guild. I forgot to mention this. The organization was formed by a special peace agreement between the various races of Carnival World. It had been founded by the Atlanticeans and continued by an agreement of several other races over the centuries.
If a courier has been harassed, injured, or killed, no matter what their race, mercenaries that worked for the Couriers Guild would do their best to track down and investigate all such claims. Even the Orcs, and Bandit Clans, although they did not usually allow entrance into their villages, usually honored the agreement and did not harm couriers so they could receive and send letters.

At the time of this courier’s visit, Carnival City and Irish Pub City had plans to set up a branch of the Courier’s Guild. Neither the final plans nor the guild buildings were completed at either city. For that matter, much of the building in general was going slowly. I found an engineer soldier who was willing to help me with my inn, when he was off duty, and I had found a couple of wandering low land barbarians (they are often much shorter than the mountain barbarians, and do not usually speak Spanish) who were willing to hire on and learn building for food and a fire and some gold.

The courier asked the Conner Corp Advance Team military guard if he could enter to deliver a message to the famous wandering Half-Elf bard known as Orlando.
The soldiers looked at each other, then one responded, “Behave yourself, Orc, and you are welcome. Try to finish your business here before the sun sets or you’ll need to go to Conner’s Inns and Suites. No camping inside the Cyclopean enclosure! You can maybe ask Cullen Conner for suggestions, if he is around. What is that new…what is it called?”
The other guard replied, “Cullen Conner’s Constabulary. But all that is there is the building framework and his signpost. He sometimes brings some engineers on loan from the Colonel and paces the joint watching them work.”

He continued, “And don’t walk near the lawnmowers.” The guard pointed to the southeast main commons corner of the inner open air Star Portal chamber’s short-cropped grassland mowed weekly by big power mowers from the landscaping and maintenance crews. Four football field stadiums worth of park in size. With more buildings going up, the greens would, someday, be shrinking as they were replaced with buildings and man-made architecture like sidewalks and raised flower beds.

“It is the unfinished building with the crossed sword and mace on a round metal shield on the signpost. If Cullen is around, you can get permission. If you behave yourself Orc, and get permission, you are free to stay overnight, or even a few days. Like I said, you can’t sleep outside. You must rent a room from Conner’s inns and suites. For now, that is your only option, although some of the guilds will have barracks. Smaller inns with better rates are coming soon, or eventually.
If you need to find the hotel, it is south of the Constabulary. That fancy multi-story building. You can’t miss it. Not totally finished, yet, but they are renting out a few rooms on the second floor.”

The guard pointed again to the northeast, “Orlando Bard is near the constabulary, in the northeast quadrant. Bard’s working there right now with a small construction crew. You can’t miss him.”

The Orc man mumbled something incoherent and then went to find me. When he finally located me, we were just finishing up the exterior of my starter house. He walked through our piles of timber, clay, stone, barrels of lubricant and water, as well as stacked bags of cement mix, and buckets of hardware, and the row of building equipment we had borrowed from the base quartermaster, Charlie Girl. Wish we could use that fancy three-dimensional building crafter, that they used to quickly erect the Conner’s Inns and Suites building, but the Conner brothers want an arm and a leg for the rent. Not literally, but you know what I mean.

Walking up to me, the young Orc Courier announced in a practiced voice, “If you are Orlando the Bard, I have a scroll letter for you from Gurg, the Smith at Orc Stronghold, Nalshrashgur. And, if you don’t mind, I am quite busy. I must get your answer back to him promptly.”

Taking a break, I read the letter. It was in cursive and a bit difficult to understand. I reread it twice as the Orc complained acidly, shifting anxiously back and forth, “I don’t have time for this! I have been paid extra to run back the response to the Orc smith. He’s not a patient man and it will take a few days to get back to him.
“Most human types won’t touch me, because I am a courier, but the lions, tigers, wolves, and bears, and monster men, don’t usually give a rat’s tail, about the Courier Protection Laws! And the force-field is nice but may not hold up under a sustained mauling or multiple jaw crunches! Especially those of the Hyena Man beast men!”
Couriers must be forced, I thought, to take congeniality training, though sarcasm laced his last bit of dialogue. His grammar was far superior to most Orcs I have met, too. For an Orc, he was not as acidic as normal, and I had not heard him cuss! Although maybe that was hidden in his sporadic mumbling grunts. I had only seen Orc couriers to date, but they come in all types and sizes, Dwarves, Wood Elves, Half Elves, Barbarians, Catlings. I have never seen a High Elf or a Lizard man, but one never knows. I know that with the High Elves, that there are just so few of them, that their population continues to drop, unless you count Half Elves of High Elf ancestry. The humanoid Sabe and Cyno, send their own couriers, unless they have a message that must be taken out of the mountains and onto the plains.

Basically, the letter said that the Orc smith remembered me from when I came to his stronghold’s gate several months ago. Gurg promised that if I returned in seven days, he had a quest for me.

He said that if I successfully completed the quest, and treated the Orcs of his clan respectfully, that I would be free to visit and trade inside the fort. I wanted that, but I was more interested in getting a few of them to visit my inn and fill my cash registers with small gems, gold and silver, when my inn was finally finished. Gurg promised that the Chief had already granted his permission for the quest.

After I explained to the construction crew that they would need to work without my help for a while and gave them directions for the projects I wanted them to work on while I was away, I packed my travel pack, donned my ranger armor, and headed out. I was still waiting for a campfire tripod. Some items came overnight from earth and then you’d order an item, and it would take months! And months.

It took me most of the week to get to Orc Stronghold Nalshrashgur. I will not provide details for that trip, but when I arrived and announced myself at the gate, a small door opened. I was ushered in by a male Orc guard.

I listened to the announcement of the upper-level catwalk guards, as they forwarded the message. Each guard yelled in relays to the next station, around the elevated blockhouse guard stations. They seemed excited that the famous Orlando the Bard, had finally arrived. I shook my head. Quite a different situation than my first visit.
The Orc guard, who had climbed down the ladder to grant me entrance, pointed over to the smith, who was banging away with his hammer onto a round, molten, dull green shaft of metal. By the time I had walked over, he was yelling at a strongly built Orc lad with light to medium green skin. Not as light as the quarter Orc courier, but far lighter than the dark green smith. Most Orcs had brown eyes that ranged from medium to dark. Any other color, even for quarter Orcs was considered a rare recessive trait. Ghordo’s eyes – his mother’s eyes – were slate blue, that is gray blue, and very clear. His eyes had very little blue, black or white speckling.

The boy was grumbling loudly as he scraped slag from a pile of hoe and sword blades with an iron scraping tool.

“Do it right Rahghordorkvah!” snapped the old, muscle sagged, but still enormously strong, middle aged, dark green Orc. Gurgukhtbaht (his name was much longer as were most Orc names, but he preferred Gurg) went back to his task at hand, and then dipped his red-hot bladed staff into the water tank.

Gurg wiped his gnarly hands on his smith’s apron. “Ah, Bard, you have returned and in time.” He smiled. Missing some teeth, his smile was lopsided. I noticed that most Orcs seemed to have oddly shaped lips, quirky as some heavily jowled eighty-year-old males I had seen back on earth. Even the boy’s lighter green and purple lips had that strange look, although his lips looked thinner and younger.

Gurg had continued, “Here’s what I need you to do, Bard. I will give you a bag of vegetables and fruits, an Orchalch, hand and a half, flared-curve bladed fighting axe, and a small bag of silver.”

“How about a two-handed weapon, with a curved oak or hickory haft and not a double-blade or dire blade. Make that a hand and a half – a two hand is just too heavy and clumsy, especially if I need to use my sneak skill or walk through wilderness brush.”

Gurg had frowned momentarily and grumbled ominously, “I am not much for negotiating, Bard, but I can do that. It will be ready when you return.”
“So, then Gurg, what is the actual quest?”

Gurg replied, “There’s another Orc Clan, mountain fort, Murgkhaztok, about three days from here. I’ll even give you a map, so you don’t waste time trying to find it. The smith there, an older lady called, Bhanfrawnkma, has a beginner’s manual on how to make metal weapons and armor. Illustrated and step-by step start to finish.”

“What are you gettin’ that dumb book for?” snapped Ghordo, as he turned from his task, closed his eyes and screwed up his face like a toddler about to fill his diaper, then vented a heated growl. The young husky Orc’s head started bobbing side to side like the little brown bobble head dog, back on earth, in the back window of my mom’s old 1971 Chevy Impala.
I didn’t catch the significance then, but whether the young Half-Orc would say the word dumb, try to remember something that had been said, or do math in his head, he had a tell. He would jiggle his face around, pucker up and squint. Ghordo looked like he was sitting in an outhouse, trying to squeeze out yesterday’s low fiber lunch of too much cheese chunks, meat sticks, sweet pastries and other highly processed foods imported from earth.

Gurg glared at Rahghordorkvah and snapped, “Young people are supposed to be seen and not heard! You’re almost fifteen years old, Dhorko! Act like it!” He added, “Get back to slaggin’ those blades!”

Ghordo growled again, mumbled, and went back to scraping slag from the hoe and sword blades on the prep table.

Gurg continued, “I has already sent a message to Mizz Fronk the smith over at the Murgkhaztok Clan. She mebbe fat as a toad and her shouts is shrill as a Banshee. But she’s taught clan smith’s like me for long as I remembers. She agreed to loan me her Orc Smith studies book for one year. I will require my apprentice Rahghordorkvah, or my next apprentice, if my present one is disinclined, to do lessons from it.”

Rahghordorkvah slammed down the blade and his scraper onto his worktable and yelled, “I don’t need no dumb book to learn smithing, Master Gurg! Just teach me something besides scraping, sanding, and sharpening. I’m a good smith. I am a professional!”

Gurg grabbed his hammer and slammed it onto Rahghordorkvah’s table; the pile of blades flipped into the air and scattered off the table and onto the dirt floor.
“Shut it, Dhorko! You is not a good smith! You is not a professional! I am a good smith and a professional; you is a stubborn and bull-headed apprentice who can barely scrape slag residue or sharpen a blade without dulling it instead or taking off too much metal.”

Rahghordorkvah’s head rocked back and forth even faster as he scowled and demanded, “Everybody knows that I is uhh am a good smith. You are just old, grumpy, sarcastic and set-in-your-ways and critical of me because I am young! Everybody agrees with me!”

Gurg replied, “Enough, Dhorko. By clan right, I can have you caned! You listen up boy, or I’ll go get the Chief right now! All Orcs is grumpy and sarcastic! But good Orcs has honor and does the best job they can do. And theys do everything they can to get better.”

Rahghordorkvah was scowling and looked like he had wanted to argue more, but had clammed up, obviously afraid that the Chief would cane him in front of the tribe. I am not sure if Rahghordorkvah’s reaction was more fear of the pain from the discipline or the embarrassment of being put on display, and then trounced, by the chief, before the clan.
“I grant you this, Rahghordorkvah,” demanded Gurg, pointing his thick, rough, pointer finger at the boy, “you shows great promise wielding any axe, sword, or club, but you probably will never amount to a hill of beans as a smith. But when your parents died in the raid against that Bandit Clan, I promised to take the pouting, belligerent, intimidating little bully you is and make a man and a smith out of you!

“Now pick up those blades, Rahghordorkvah, and get them back on the table. Then go gets your armor and pack a backpack.”

A worried look had instantly appeared on Rahghordorkvah’s green scowling face, “Are you firing me, Master Grug. I mean Gurg! You can’t banish me without a tribal meeting!”
Gurg grimaced, shook his head from side to side, and placed his hands on his hips, elbows skewed outward, “No! I is not banishing you, Dhorko! Use your noggin! Bard here can’t go to Frawnkma’s fort unless accompanied by another Orc from ours tribe! I is not going to make the journey and no one else has volunteered to do so. That means you is going.”
Rahghordorkvah started mumbling again, but then offered, “It’ll get me out from under you, so maybe this is not a bad thing.”

Gurg raised a bushy eyebrow and scowled, but I had interrupted, “Hey, I didn’t agree to escort your apprentice!”

Gurg pointed his thick knobby finger at me and exclaimed, “Honored guest, hears me! This point is not negotiable. You wants the quest or not?”
I sighed, shook my head, toed the gravel of Gurg’s shop floor and said, “Well, why not? You said Rahghordorkvah is a good fighter. I can use the help. I have survived on my own, but I won’t turn down good help.”

I asked Rahghordorkvah, “Are you up for some fun, but dangerous adventure, kid?”
Ghordo looked up at me, laughed affably, then gave me a crooked smile, “You ain’t saw me fight yet, Bard! Yeah Half-Elf, I’m up for it. Just don’t ride me like old Gurg does. And don’t call me Dhork or Dhorko!”

I grinned and added, “No offense, but your given name is a mouthful. How about I call you Ghordo?”

Ghordo grunted and chuckled, “Ya know…I kinda like that name. Don’t know why nobody else never thought of that one. Good one, Bard! I like it!”

CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 13

Ghordo, true to the old smith’s word, had been indeed, a good fighter. He was sarcastic and he grumbled constantly, until it got on my nerves. It didn’t take much. I flatly told Ghordo just how I felt about it. I had promised myself that I wasn’t going to yell at him like Gurg had, but I was not going to put up with his misbehavior either.
Less than two hours into our journey Ghordo had gotten cocky and challenged me to a duel. We agreed that it would be with our fists only. No weapons. He promised that he would obey the rules and accept the consequences, although it had been obvious that the young Orc was pretty sure that he’d win.
I told him that when I said yes, I meant yes and when I said no, I meant no, and that my word was my bond. Ghordo hadn’t thought that was acceptable, so we dickered about that for a few minutes.
I offered to keep my word concerning the duel on the honor of my father and mother but preferred not to make an oath out of it.
Ghordo nodded his head in agreement and the battle began. At first, I just dodged his blows, turned his blows against him, and threw him around like a rag doll. Ghordo ended up backside or belly in the dust quite a few times, but he was not one to give up. When he got mad and mouthy, I bit the bullet, and trounced him almost as badly as an unscrupulous horse-trainer would systematically club a horse, but with my hands, trying not to draw too much blood or maim him.
I had been worried that Ghordo would hate me. I had been wrong in my assessment. Dead wrong.
Oh, he was irked – no getting around that. I scuffed up his face a bit, cut his lip, and left a few bruises and a nice shiner. After a couple of hours, he had been grinning like an ape and quietly talking. While he wasn’t a ranger like me, Ghordo did have a modicum of woodland savvy, and was fairly quiet.
We fought a few critters and a couple of wandering bandits. Ghordo fought well, for a young lad, and I told him so.
The short of it was we brought that book back to Gurg and Ghordo announced that he wanted to go to Carnival City with me and train as a bounty hunter. I was surprised and so too, was his clan. They agreed, had a going away party for him, with a few giftings, even, and then sent us merrily on our way.
Ghordo is still grumpy and sarcastic, but he is also quite affable, most of the time, these days. He is very social, but because of his Orcish personality, long term friendships with Ghordo are definitely a high maintenance situation. Toxic personality flare ups are part of his nature.
While I wouldn’t make the following section part of a Bard’s tale about my Half Orc Bounty Hunter, it is important for understanding him. Ghordo is certainly not a narcissist, but he does exhibit a few tendencies common to that personality disorder.
He does not like to be corrected. Especially about his grammar. Really, he doesn’t like to be corrected about anything. Since I have taken the position of his former chief in his life, Ghordo allows me to bring correction, but he still might grumble, then grudgingly acquiesce.
He often feels he is the most important member of the group and pretends a deep knowledge on all subjects. Like a narcissist, he often feels as if he deserves special treatment, but rarely, unless having an ulterior motive, will he treat others as he wishes to be treated. No Golden Rule for Ghordo.
He is willing to help others and give advice, but it is often an exercise in one-man-upmanship. What a good boy am I! Now return the favor. Do what I want, when I want, and make me happy! He can feel slighted and ignored when you don’t take his advice or do things exactly the way he wants. And is not afraid to tell you or others just how “dumb” you are because of what you are saying or doing.
Ghordo always wants to give others the impression that he is highly successful and an expert on any subject. Unfortunately, while he is quite good at bounty hunting, there are many things where he is not the brightest bulb in the fixture or the sharpest knife in the butcher block! He is usually quite good for example at cooking meat, but his casseroles and desserts are hit and miss. Of course, if you don’t say that it is the best blueberry pie you have ever eaten, your taster is off, or you are just being critical to make him look bad! And if you give him a slice of your Brown Sugar Crumb Top apple pie, which just won the Carnival bake off, it is adequate, but a bit stale or missing something!
Like a narcissist, Ghordo tends to think that rules that apply to common people do not apply to him. This is a biggie for Ghordo. I don’t like to ride him, but I do need to keep him in line, on this trait especially. He places heavy expectations of perfection on others, all the while ready to justify or deny his own imperfections.
When necessary, Ghordo can turn on the charm, and appear very friendly, considerate and endearing, but there is usually an ulterior motive. What is confusing with Ghordo, which makes him different than narcissists, in general, or other Orcs, is that there are many times when he is honestly affable or good natured for a short time.
He is not afraid to use intimidation, manipulation or a little black mail to get what he wants. Ghordo, unless I reign him in from time to time has a strong desire to control people, especially those he does not consider his equal. He can become pouty or jealous when someone outshines him. Ghordo has a hard time admitting that he is wrong or made a mistake, and rather than just admit it, will double down and demand that he is right.
Since he sees me as his chief, I can counteract him, but few others can. I like to think that I have been a good influence on him. I believe my encouragement has minimized in Ghordo, some of the worse traits of the Narcissistic disorder, the exhilaration of controlling others, the joy of causing strife, sabotaging your life, making you feel guilty for their misbehavior and turning your friends and family against you.
Let me tell you a couple of Ghordo stories.
I did learn though that he gives terrible haircuts. One of Zale’s outdoor maintenance guys had given in to his wheedling. Ghordo was intimidating others, members of the indoor and outdoor maintenance crew, who were at mess by the trench fires. Ghordo was demanding that they admit that he was a good haircutter and a professional. They weren’t the big rangers that Zales favored for Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta. Maintenance crew were mostly low-level soldiers who had barely made it through their first training but who were willing to sign their NDA’s and leave earth for several years.
Ghordo had only recently bought a powered home hair trimmer from Charlie Girl. A Ratkin merchant had parked his cart outside of the Northwest Guard station, a few weeks ago, and asked if anyone was interested in buying his wares. They said they’d need to clear it with Zales. Zales had been dubious, but after he had sent Charlie Girl to examine the items, she found several things that had caught her interest. A few of them were sent to the scientists, but most of them were just stamped with a price sticker and placed for sale in the commissary.
Strange, I’d thought. Where did the Ratkin merchant get appliances with electrical cords that were removed and reengineered to use Zero Point Energy? Doesn’t make sense. I looked at Ghordo’s clippers. Etched in fine print on black plastic, on the underside of the device: Remington, HKVA2000A, for Walmart of Germany. Hmmm. There may be a connection. No, can’t be. One of the last entries in Nayana Zazazi’s Journal before he vanished was, “My Ebony Cavalier sent a photo of crashed Nazi Bell in the Dark Naga Mountains. Should I investigate? Not enough time. Window of opportunity closing. If I survive age regression, it is through the portal, with the time adaption crystal, to the four corners mountain in the earth desert.” That is an oopart, in itself. How does a Nazi Bell get here without a Star Portal? And if it is connected to the clipper, the Bell is not from World War Two, but one that was in the future before it ended up here. What is four corners mountain? Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah did not exist then.
Definitely an oopart if I have ever seen one. And I have – back on earth. Kind of reminds me of a book I once read as a teenager called, America’s Greatest Ancient Mysteries. There was a story of finding the skulls of wild cattle, dated at about twelve thousand years ago, with bullet holes in them, from a modern big game rifle. According to the forensics tests, these weren’t ancient bones, shot with a modern rifle in modern times. The bullet fragments came back with the same age as the skulls.
The Ratkin’s merchant guards had moved back to the trio of trees (one’s I had used myself when I first came to Carnival World) and made camp. The Ratkin Merchant had went through his inventory, showing them to Charlie Girl and the two Beta team Rangers. When the force shield weakened, Zales had said to go pay the Ratkin for the items she wanted for the commissary and then send him and his dozen guards on their way, away from the gate. Zales had added that they could camp in the trees but needed to be on their way out of the area before night fall. Charlie Girl had readied her gold and the Ratkin had readied her purchases, then they both waited for the door shield to weaken, and they quickly made their exchanges.
The electric cord power system had been converted to run on a small 1000-year power-life Atlanticean cell battery, a type of small Zero Point Energy Module device. The battery was easily transferrable to new tools and would outlast a vast number of various apparatuses before the energy would no longer power-up items.
The young man from earth, one of the mowers, had taken it well, being almost scalped by a rude and obnoxious young Half Orc and quickly donned his ball cap. When Ghordo tried to intimidate others into letting him cut their hair, and they were refusing, Ghordo had not relented. Finally, I had been forced to intervene.
Kind of reminds me of another event, that happened years later, after my inn was up and running. I even had work crews, from a few races, some from Earth and some from Carnival World.
Ghordo had given a $5 gold piece as a deposit to my new Catling waitress, then borrowed four quarter dollar silver pieces from her.
They, Ghordo and Melodia, almost came to claws and blows over the issue when I intervened. Long Leon, as we called him, was my Inn Keeper. Properly his name was Lionel Leonne. Although he was a hefty guy, he had not been sure he could have successfully handled Ghordo in a fight.
Long Leon was a tall drink of water, and back on earth, he had had only minimal bouncer experience. Lionel was much better at sums and inventories.
Ghordo would probably have won the fight with Long Leon, but I had worked with Leon on improving his hand-to-hand combat when he had come to work for me.
I had no doubt that Ghordo would have won the battle with the Catling, Melodia, but he might have lost a cheek or an eye to her claws first!
Melodia the Catling, after arguing a bit herself, was not willing to call Ghordo’s bluff about turning her over to Cullen Conner’s Paladins. She finally offered to give Ghordo back $4.00 in silver.
Ghordo went ballistic, then inundated her with more name calling and threats of turning her into the law. Melodia got as nippy as a riled Chihuahua.
Melodia the Orange Tabby Catling was wrong in that she spent the gold piece deposit, mistakenly thinking a deposit was a trade, after her shift. When I explained that a deposit was considered naught and not part of the mathematical equation for ascertaining the proper amount for pay back, she finally, grudgingly, acquiesced.
The Orc, I explained, respectfully, unlike Ghordo had with insults and off-color mockery, was correct mathematically, but wrong in his behavior. Ghordo was supposed to repay her the four silver bits he had borrowed; she was required to return the five-gold deposit.
Yes, Ghordo was wrong when he heatedly intimidated her and called her stupid, and other not so complimentary terms. Of course, he attempted to justify his behavior as being right and acceptable because of her glaring math error. And he could have simply cashed in his gold piece at the counter!
Ghordo then learned a new earth saying, “Two wrongs don’t make a right!” I agreed that she had been wrong in how she had argued incorrectly, but reemphasized that he had been rude and obnoxious in the way he was treating the Catling, who was also my friend and employee.
I was forced to intervene both times and save myself from scandal! Not quite secondhand embarrassment, but close enough! I thought we, Ghordo and me, might have to go out back, and have another fisticuff honor duel, but Ghordo had learned his lesson the first time. And the Catling, once I rushed out of my suite to investigate the hullabaloo, because she respected me, had retracted her claws, and quieted her cattish yowls.
Yes, Ghordo could be a rascal after that, but for the most part, was calmer these days and has become an Orc of skill and honor. As far as Bounty Hunting.
Mr. Congeniality he will never be. And for that matter, a “good” barber, or smith – no. No matter how Ghordo might want to argue otherwise, he would always be a good fighter, and maybe less sarcastic and grumpy than your average Orc.
Most Orcs, even the old ones, male and female, up until age had ripped away their endurance, strength, and agility, were fair to middlin’ fighters until they died or took their Death Walk. Unlike the Dwarves and Elves, Orcs did not live centuries on Carnival World. And Elves lived over twice as long as Dwarves. Orcs did usually outlive humans for a few decades if they did not die in battle first.
“Well, folks,” said Bard after taking a sip from his water glass, “that is the tale of how I met Ghordo the Orc, licensed Bounty Hunter. Don’t miss tomorrow night! We’ll start Padre’s Tale. And let me warn you, as a great a tale as ‘Meeting Ghordo’ was, when Ghordo joined me to help Colonel Zales Alpha Team Rangers, on the White Dwarf Quest, it is even wilder!”