Page 2 of Caged By the Orc

She nods quickly, all business-like, and scurries off to follow instructions. My eyes track her movements as she weaves through the crowded tavern. There's something about the way she moves - quick, efficient, purposeful. No wasted motions. It's almost mesmerizing, watching her dart between patrons and tables, her small frame easily slipping through gaps that would give me trouble. She's like a well-oiled machine, clearing plates and wiping surfaces with practiced ease.

I find myself wondering how long she's been working here, how many nights she's spent navigating this sea of drunken bodies and spilled ale. It's not often I pay this much attention to a tavern girl, but there's something different about this one. Something that keeps drawing my gaze back to her, despite my best efforts to focus on Mila and the night ahead.

Interesting little thing, I think to myself, unable to look away. She's bustling around like a good worker, serving drinks left and right and deftly avoiding the grabby hands of drunken orcs who try to clench her by the waist. I've gotta hand it to her - she's got some skills. Most of these tavern girls would be squealing and giggling at every pinch and grope, but not this one. She's all business, and I find myself oddly intrigued.

For a moment, our eyes meet across the crowded tavern. There's something in her gaze that makes me raise a brow - a defiance, maybe even a challenge. It nearly makes me want to call out to her, ask her what the fuck she thinks she's looking at. But then I remember she's just another human, not worth mytime or energy. Just a tavern girl, probably hoping for a good tip from the likes of someone like me.

I turn back to Mila, pushing all of those thoughts out of my mind. Her curves are more inviting anyway, and I'm not here to waste time on some human serving wench.

"Let's get out of here," I growl, husky with anticipation. I'm already thinking about how I'll use this girl to forget my troubles, if only for a night. The alcohol's buzzing through my veins, making everything seem a bit hazier, a bit more urgent. "I've got better things to do than sit in this shithole all night."

2

JOSIE

Iwipe down another sticky table, my arms aching from hours of scrubbing and serving. The tavern's dim light does little to hide the grime, but I've long stopped caring. Another night, another shift that'll barely keep food on our table.

A raucous laugh cuts through the din, making me flinch. I glance up, my jaw clenching as I spot him again. Sarod. The orc who struts in here like he owns the place, flashing his wealth and that infuriatingly smug grin. My stomach churns with pure disgust at the sight of him, mortified that everyone in here bows down to his every whim.

Tonight's arm candy is a willowy blonde, all curves and fluttering eyelashes, giggling at his every word as if he's the wittiest creature in all of Protheka. I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my head. Does he have a new girl every night? It certainly seems that way, not that I'm keeping track or anything.

"Oi! More ale!" A gruff voice calls out, snapping me back to reality.

I hurry to fetch another round, weaving through the crowded room with practiced ease. The smell of sweat and stale beerassaults my nostrils as I dodge wandering hands and sloshing mugs. As I pass Sarod's table, I can't help but catch snippets of his boasting. His deep, rumbling voice carries over the noise, filled with tales of zyrphix glory and wealth beyond measure. I grit my teeth, willing myself not to look his way again.

"—scored the winning goal. You should've seen their faces when I smashed through their defense. Bunch of weaklings, really. They didn't stand a chance against me."

The blonde coos, "Oh, you're so talented! I bet no one can match you on the field. You must be the best player out there!"

I snort, unable to help myself. Talented at being an ass, maybe. And inflating his own ego, that's for sure. As if we haven't heard this same story a hundred times before. I roll my eyes, focusing on wiping down the sticky bar top instead of listening to more of his ridiculous boasting. It's almost impressive how he manages to make every conversation about himself and his supposed prowess on the zyrphix field.

Still, my shift continues. My arms strain as I carry the heavy tray of ale mugs back to the bar. The weight seems to increase with every step, and I can feel my muscles protesting. One more hour, I remind myself. Just one more, then I can go home to Ma. She'll need help with her evening medicines, and I promised to read her a chapter from her favorite book. The thought of her smile when I walk through the door is the only thing keeping me going right now.

The night drags on endlessly. I lose count of the mugs I fill, the messes I clean, and the lewd comments I dodge. All the while, Sarod's booming laughter grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. His voice seems to carry above all others, as if the entire tavern revolves around him.

Finally, my shift ends, and I can't get my apron off fast enough. My fingers tremble with exhaustion as I hang it up, my muscles aching from hours of hauling heavy trays. This givesme a much-needed chance to rest, but it also gives me the opportunity to observe what's going on around me. And I'm not too sure I like what I see.

I lean against the bar, trying to catch my breath, and watch as Mira, one of the other tavern girls, practically trips over herself to serve Sarod another round. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she giggles at something he says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It's pathetic, really. I roll my eyes, unable to fathom how anyone could fall for his act.

"Can you believe it?" Mira gushes when she returns to the bar, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "He scored three points in today's match! Three! That's practically unheard of!"

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that his "accomplishment" hardly makes up for his boorish behavior. Instead, I just nod, wondering how much longer I'll have to endure this circus before I can escape home to Ma.

"It's just a game, Mira," I remind her, unable to keep the exasperation from my voice. "One where they beat each other into bloody pulps just for a bit of wealth, food, and slaves. Is that really something to get excited about?"

Mira gasps, her eyes widening as if I'd just blasphemed against some sacred deity. "Just a game? Josie, how can you say that? Zyrphix is everything! It's not just about the prizes - it's about honor, skill, and raw power. And Sarod," she sighs dreamily, "he's the best player in the league. You should see him on the field, it's like watching poetry in motion."

"If you say so," I mutter, unconvinced and frankly a bit disgusted by her blind adoration. I turn away, wiping down the bar with more force than necessary. From what I've seen, zyrphix is just an excuse for orcs and dark elves to beat each other senseless while the rest of us cheer like idiots. It's barbaric, really, and I can't understand why anyone would willinglyparticipate in such brutality. But I keep these thoughts to myself, knowing they'd fall on deaf ears.

As I fill a water cup for myself, readying to head home for the night, my gaze drifts back to Sarod's table. The dim tavern light catches on something shiny around his neck, and I can't help but squint. It's a gold chain, thick and gleaming. My eyes widen as I notice more – rings adorning his green fingers, a jeweled bracelet clasped around his muscular wrist. Each piece probably costs more than I make in a year.

That jewelry could feed Ma and me for months, maybe even a year. Hell, it could get us out of this dump entirely. I allow myself a moment to imagine it – us finally getting off of Tlouz, away from the scorching heat and constant danger, to somewhere better for humans. Somewhere I wouldn't have to scrub floors and dodge grabby hands just to survive. My stomach flips in excitement at the mere thought, and I have to grip the edge of the bar to steady myself. It's a foolish dream, I know, but for a second, I let myself believe it could be possible.

I chew my lip, weighing the risks. If I'm caught... No. I can't think about that. This might be my only chance. The consequences are too terrifying to consider, but the potential reward? It could change everything.

I watch, my heart racing, waiting for the perfect moment. Sarod leans in close to the blonde, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispers something. She throws her head back, laughing loudly, her golden hair catching the dim tavern light. The sound grates on my nerves, but I push the feeling aside. This is it. My fingers twitch at my side, itching to make a move. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves.

Now's my chance. I can't mess this up. Everything depends on the next few seconds. I steel myself, pushing away any doubts. It's now or never, and I refuse to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

---