There was a full washbasin and rag stashed beneath the bed. Louis used it to dab his chest clean of the mess he had made. For a moment, he felt a pang of shame for what he’d done here, pleasuring himself in a rented room. But then he wondered why. Nothing wrong with a full grown male relieving some pent up stress, was there? He doubted it was the worst the room had seen.
There was something about being an orc that gave you a great boost of confidence.
Once clean, he stood up and stretched his new body out. He swayed his hips a little, letting out a rumbling snigger as he enjoyed the way his new cock swung. Childish, he knew, but how could he resist?
Part of him felt he ought to change back now, but he was still enjoying himself. Warwick had told him to relax, but how could he sit around in his room as a human when he felt so awake and alive as an orc? He wanted to go outside. But at his new size, there was no chance his old clothes would fit.
“So what?’ shrugged the orc part of his mind. Louis grinned a tusky grin. While he was certainly not embarrassed about his new body, he doubted it would be received as well by the townsfolk. After looking around the room, he tore down the curtain and wrapped it around his waist, fastening it into place with the curtain’s tie rope. It served as a suitable kilt.
Next, he picked up his torso bandages from the floor. From what he could see of the cut on his back, craning his neck over his shoulder, while his back had grown his injury had remained the same size. Even so, he didn’t want it to get gangrene, so he wrapped his bandages tightly around it all the same. They didn’t go quite as far now his chest was so much larger, but enough to ensure the wound was well covered.
This felt suitably decent. As a shepherd, he’d worn his woolen tunic outdoors all summer long, now he was bare except for his bandages and a precariously tied kilt. The only thing that gave him pause was his beard. Normally, he wouldn’t go out without it tied up in a plait or at least a knot. Then he remembered he didn’t normally have a beard, so why did it matter?
He left the confines of his room and trotted down the stairs, almost tripping when he discovered his feet were now slightly too big for the steps. As he passed the bar, he nodded to the innkeeper again, who returned the nod instinctively before wondering when he had rented a room to an orc. Before he could dwell on the matter, Louis was gone.
Louis stepped out in the street, bare feet curling on the sun-warmed stone. With no aim in mind, he strolled, his makeshift kilt swishing with each step. He was in a new place, in a new body, and he was surprised to be enjoying it.
He got a few stares as he weaved through the crowded streets. As multicultural as Stonewater was, it seemed orcs were not frequent visitors. And being a good one or two feet taller than everyone else -or more if you were talking about the dwarves- Louis stuck out a bit. Even so, he was mostly ignored. Nobody even suspected he wasn't a real orc. Not that anyone would have cause to, but there was something strangely thrilling about wearing a body that was about as different to Louis as it was possible to be and for nobody to even question it.
Louis reached a small square, hewn from the same white stone that made everything in this town. He sat on the edge of a small fountain and ran his meaty fingers through the cool water. As he sat, enjoying the sun on his bare skin, a group of chattering women passed.
‘...a monster, they said. Razed the whole farm.’
‘I told you. Didn't I tell you? When the Gipsies moved south. They know what’s coming.’’
‘There's dark days ahead. Maybe the end of everything…’
Stuff and nonsense, scoffed Louis. People called it a sign of the endtimes when two thunderstorms struck in the same week.
After a few lazy minutes, Louis got back on his feet and resumed wandering. Just around the corner, he came upon a large market. It was at least three times the size of the one in Westriver, an intricate maze of stalls and tents and carts. And the energy was different too. This place was busy and loud. Vendors yelled at the many passers-by, desperate to entice them to look at their wares. Some played music, some sang songs. And the customers were equally boisterous, enthusiastically haggling over prices.
Louis wondered how Warwick competed. Perhaps he’d bump into him here. It occurred to Louis to be worried about that, in case Warwick recognised the orc who raided the convoy yesterday. But the truth was the thought didn't bother him.
Suddenly, Louis found himself slowing to a stop by one stall. Not Warwick’s. This stall sold weapons. It was larger than the others, filled with and surrounded by various sized stands, bearing all manner of swords and knives and axes. But there was one particular sword that caught Louis’s eye.
It was hanging vertically from one the stall struts, since it was too large for any of the stands. The blade shone in the sun, but dully, not so pompous as to aspire to a mirror shine. Nor was there gold or jewels on the handle. The grip was wrapped in soft leather and the pommel was shaped like a teardrop, perfect for bashing with. Unable to resist, Louis reached out and plucked it from its hook. It fit perfectly in his hand. He gave it a few test swings, startling a few passing shoppers.
‘Ah, sir.’
Louis looked up to see the smith. Ordinarily, Louis might have thought him a tall, burly man, but he was at least a head shorter than him now.
‘Hello,’ said Louis brightly, fixing him a smile that was quite terrifying.
The smith gulped, clearly unused to dealing with orcs. Nevertheless, he was determined to make the sale. ‘I see you’re taken with the longsword.'
‘Yes!’ Louis bellowed, having not yet mastered the volume of his new, gravelly voice. ‘I like this sword!’ He lowered it and held it against his waist. ‘Does it come with a scabbard?’
‘Ah, I’m afraid that weapon is designed to be a two-handed sword for a human. You see, it’s longer than a human leg, so it wouldn't be worn at the belt. But I’d happily fashion a custom job.’ He was sweating, worried how Louis would take this news.
‘No, I’m not staying in town long.’
Louis held it out again, admiring how it looked in his hand.
‘Will you, er… be buying?’ The smith looked him up and down. Even if Louis had any money to carry, he certainly had nowhere to put it in his current outfit. It seemed the smith was thinking the same thing.
He wasn’t actually going to buy it, of course. What did he need a sword for? Then again, he wondered if he could convince Warwick to buy it for him. Saving the convoy had to be worth something. But why pay for it at all, muttered the orcish part of his mind. He already had the sword in hand. What could the smith do to keep him from taking it?
Louis hesitated. He couldn’t steal. That was the orc talking, not him. He would never do something like that.