The Red Queen of the arena — part II
Life in the Empire
The relationship between the Holy Infernal Empire and the Orc Kingdom has always been tumultuous: for all the thousand-year of recorded history, the two nations were on opposite fronts, as the orc always honored their ancient alliance with the Angelic Unison ( Empire’s nemesis). The traditionalist and community-focused ideology of Orkoen Erresumak is a perfect match for the collectivist and bureaucratic ideals of the angels’ nation. But the Empire has always had a seductive pull on orcs: the promise of freedom and self-determination attracted the deserters, the self-exiled, the dissidents. For many years there have been fugitives to the devils’ reign, but never in large numbers. Things changed during the Orc Civil War, when the Empire supported the South against the North with generous supplies. Now that the relationship was friendlier the Empire seemed an even more attractive perspective. A significant push came from the arts: the operas and poems from the Empire painted an enticing picture of unbridled passions and acknowledged talents.
Most orcs coming to the Empire don’t find the fulfillment and happiness they are looking for: starting again in a foreign country is not easy, and the Infernal mottos of “a place for everyone” and “to each what they deserve” are more theory than practice. A cautionary tale told in the Kingdom is the one about the son of a noble that went to the Empire to pursue his dream of doing magic, ending up scrubbing the floor of some old and cranky wizard. But for every three stories of disappointment, there’s one of success: Urretxindorra was destined to weave prayer rugs but became one of the most famous contraltos; Basurdea rejected his role in the scribe council to follow his passion for cooking and became the Emperor’s chef… Enough to keep the dreamers and the desperate coming.
There are two interlaced stereotypes about the orc: there are orcs who are cold and inflexible, they just swapped the rules they had to follow home with a new set of their choosing; there are other orcs who are lazy drunks, spending all their free time in taverns, playing cards and drinking, reveling in the relative lax costumes of their new home. It’s said that many orcs start of the first kind and end in the second debouched one.
That was what happened to Belatza, Katu uncle.
Belatza arrived in Paimon, Malebolge capital city, with his human wife Krabelin, the daughter of a rugs merchant. They took a house by the sea and kissed by the red light of the sunset: he promised her a life without worries, she vowed her eternal love to him.
The idyll lasted a couple of years. Belatza was adamant in not taking any job related to weapons or military, looking to be as far as possible from his caste heritage. Krabelin wanted to be a housewife, maybe painting, but as a hobby, she just wanted to avoid the backbreaking job she had at home (she worked in the warehouse of the family store, moving piles of thick carpets up and down the cargo ships). The problem was that both of them didn’t know anything else: both of them had spent their entire life doing just the one job their family did. Money, eventually, run out. They were too proud to take a lowly job, so they had to go back to what they knew: Belatza worked for the merchant guild as chief of the security rounds on the harbor. Through that connection, he found a job for Krabelin as an appraiser of exotic textiles. Their nice house by the sea was safe but they became more and more bitter. They were disappointed: they went so far away but ended so close to what they were avoiding. Their union wasn’t blessed with a child: not many interethnic marriages have such luck, but they were sure they were different. They were really in love!
That love drowned in resentment and disillusion. They kept up face, lovingly kissing when they crossed paths among the docks, each busy with their workday but happy to take a moment for tenderness. At home, they just ignored each other. When they had to talk or interact, shouting matches and broken dishes were in order.
Belatza spent all his days and night in the harbor’s tavern, wasting money on cheap booze and stupid bets, bad-mouthing Krebelin at every occasion. But beware of insulting his wife in his presence: even among the alcohol fumes, his orcish honor would sping up and demand reparations! Nobody can offend his beloved but him! A duel is required! At that point, the tavern would fall silent: nobody ever challenges Balatza. He could easily win any fight, even blinded by the most awful liquors.
Katu witnesses this scene over and over again in the first months she arrived in Paimon. Her uncle would take her to work, to show her the ropes, and then they will drift to a tavern until the moons were up. Balatza insisted she joined him. Another orc would help the harbor guards: a war cry and a sword flourish make nine out of ten thugs run away screaming in fear.
Katu didn’t want to follow his uncle in that depressing path. A path sinisterly common among her people: there were not many orcs in Paimon and she met all of them in the taverns, gambling and picking fights. All the drinking buddies of his uncle had ambitions and passions, but now no more.
Part 2 of 7
