By: GasBubblesFan
Prologue
TWENTY YEARS AGO
Serrah tightened her grip on her father Dahn’s hand as he and her mother Meea moved quickly, but carefully through the seemingly endless rows of trees and the dense foliage. They had been walking for what felt like hours. The sun, which had just started setting when their journey began, had long since disappeared, with only the moon and stars providing any semblance of light. Serrah had grown frustrated and exhausted with the entire trip, and more than once, she had asked her parents to stop so that she could drink from a stream or snack on a passing squirrel or bug, but she was always denied. It wasn’t just her aching feet that had the young ogress in a foul mood. She had finally turned seven years old, the age when all ogres were deemed ready to take on the world all by themselves. No mother. No father. Just little Serrah and her thoughts.
Serrah felt her father give her hand a quick squeeze. She looked up at him and found him smiling at her, although the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It’s just past these bushes,” Dahn said. “Are you ready?”
Serrah looked between her father and her mother, who was also wearing the same faulty smile. Serrah sighed and tightened her grip on the doll that she was carrying in her free hand. She wasn’t ready. Not in the slightest. But they had already come so far. And she didn’t have much of a choice. Serrah lowered her gaze to the ground and nodded.
“Okay,” Meea whispered excitedly. “Here we are!”
The three ogres pushed past the bushes and stepped into the space that little Serrah would soon call home. In front of them was a large swamp, the thick, muddy earth threatening to swallow Serrah’s shoes. Small, stagnant pools of water and ooze littered the venue, with some of them bubbling and frothing over with who knew what. Small, rugged plants were haphazardly scattered around, with many of them forming rings around the nearby trees. Serrah heard the sound of crickets chirping nearby, along with the croaks of frogs and toads.
“Your father found this place a few weeks ago,” Meea told her daughter, lifting her up as though to give her a better view. “He wanted you to have a swamp just like ours!”
“You’re going to love it, Serrah,” Dahn added. “There’s so much mud and bugs here, and get a whiff of that air!”
Serrah took a deep inhale and was greeted by the warm, welcoming aroma of dirt and decay. While most other races would find the stench off-putting, to Serrah, it smelled like home. But this wasn’t her home. Her home was back with her mother and father. Not here, so far away from them.
“I… I don’t want to go,” Serrah told her mom, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t want to stay here! I want to stay with you and Dad!”
Meea’s grin finally cracked as her own eyes grew moist, as well. After a moment of silence, Serrah rested her daughter back on the ground and pulled her into a hug, which Dahn also joined.
“I know you don’t want to go, sweetie,” Meea said, her voice cracking. “But this is how it’s always been. I did it. Your father did it. And now it’s your turn. It’s just… it’s just not good for too many ogres to stay together like we were. It attracts bad people.”
“Humans, you mean,” Dahn chimed in, his voice tinged with a hint of agitation. “Always humans. Annoying little gnats that don’t know when to —”
“Dahn,” Meea interrupted. Dahn caught himself, took a breath, and continued.
“Serrah… my sweet little Serrah,” he cooed, resting his hand on his daughter’s shoulder with a weary look in his eyes. “This world isn’t made for people like us. Ogres like us. Your mother and I, we’ve…”
He winced and rubbed the scar on his neck where a hunter had nicked him with a knife a year ago, something Serrah was grateful to not have witnessed.
“We’ve been hunted down by humans for as long as we can remember. For the way that we act. For the way that we look. And it’ll never change. Humans are too set in their ways. But that’s why we need you to be tough. We need you to be strong. Stronger than you’d be if your mother and I watched over you until you were an adult. There are some lessons that you can only learn if you learn them on your own.”
“This swamp is your kingdom, Serrah,” Meea added. “More than that, it’s your teacher. You’ll learn how to build. How to hunt. How to thrive. And you’ll make this place into a home all your own. And no matter what, do not let humans take your home away from you. Do you remember what Dad and I said to do if a human tries to hurt you?”
Serrah thought for a moment before flashing a small, genuine smile. “Roar!”
Both of the ogress’ parents laughed, with Dahn ruffling his daughter’s orange hair.
“That’s right,” he said. “And if that doesn’t work, don’t be afraid to get physical. Bite their ankles, tear their hair, kick them if the —”
“Enough, Dahn,” Meea teased before growing serious and looking back at Serrah.
“And remember, if you ever miss us, you can always talk to Mr. Scrumpy, okay?”
Serrah held up Mr. Scrumpy, the straw-filled doll that had been gifted to her by her parents the day prior as an early birthday present. It looked just like an ogre, but with buttons for eyes and a haphazard line of stitches for a smile.
“Okay,” Serrah said quietly.
A few moments of silence passed, with only the distant sounds of croaking, chirping, and burbling keeping the three ogres company.
“Okay, then,” Dahn said, sounding unsure of himself. “We best get going. You should find yourself a nice tree to sleep in before getting to work on your home.”
Serrah felt a pit form in her stomach, but tried to ignore it. “Okay, Dad.”
Dahn looked like he was about to say something, but his mouth failed him and broke into a shaky frown. He pulled his daughter into a tight hug, his shoulders lightly shaking, before letting her go several moments later.
“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you so much.”
“And I love you, too, Serrah,” Meea added, pulling Serrah into a hug of her own. “I know that you’re going to be amazing.”
Serrah continued to fight the urge to scream and cry and beg to go with her parents, instead settling for a choked silence. Once the hug between her and her mother broke, the two adult ogres made their way back into the forest. Dahn spared one last look at his daughter before disappearing behind the trees. As far as Serrah knew, she’d never see them again.
The young ogress looked down at Mr. Scrumpy, his permanent grin getting on Serrah’s nerves. What in the world was he so happy about?
Serrah sighed and looked around for a comfy-looking tree, finding one with thick enough branches to lay down in. A minute of climbing later, Serrah was laying down, leaning her head against the leafy end of the branch, and cuddling Mr. Scrumpy close to her chest. Tomorrow, she’d explore the swamp more. Her swamp. Her kingdom. No one else’s. Especially not the humans’. She’d need to find a proper shelter. Or more likely, she’d need to build one. She’d need to find food, too. Those noisy frogs sounded like they’d make a nice meal later on. There was so much to do, and she had the rest of her life to do it. But tonight? Tonight, Serrah needed rest. And she got it in the form of a light, dreamless sleep.
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Chapter One
“You know, all of this could’ve been avoided if you’d followed your buddies when they ran off,” Serrah said with a snicker, lightly wiggling her hips in response to the angry, stifled moans and groans underneath her rear. “I mean, I know that an ogress’ head has a pretty hefty price on it. What is it, now? Five thousand gold pieces? Ten thousand? But it can’t be worth this, right?”
The hunter under Serrah’s ass said something that the ogress couldn’t make out but was definitely either a slur or a threat. Not that he was in any position to follow up on his promises of death and vengeance or whatever. The man getting sandwiched between the moist, mucky ground and Serrah’s cheeks had been the leader of yet another hunting party out for ogre blood. A group of ten to fifteen men and women full of liquid courage had stormed Serrah’s swamp in the middle of the night, each one looking to claim the fame and fortune that would supposedly come with presenting Serrah’s hide to their king or mayor or whoever ran their small-minded little town. Of course, Serrah was no stranger to trespassers, and she had no issue letting her reputation precede her. As soon as she confronted the hunters and flashed her yellow-toothed, drool-laden smile with promises to tear their skin off strip by strip before eating them alive (creativity in threats was a valued trait for ogres), most of the raiders ran back home with their tails between their legs, leaving only three men behind to claim their prize. They talked a big game, but Serrah saw right through their bluster and had them all taken care of in mere moments. A hunter with a pitchfork attempted to stab her. Serrah grabbed it before it made impact, pulled it away, and swung the handle against the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Another hunter tried to get up close and personal with a knife. Serrah dodged the strike, grabbed his head, and brought her knee up to his jaw, knocking a few of his teeth loose before he also went down for the count. The third hunter attempted be clever, letting his companions distract Serrah before leaping onto her back and attempting to slit her throat with a knife of his own. The ogress thought quickly, though, and grabbed her assailant’s hands to keep them away from her neck before running backwards and slamming her back into a nearby tree. The hunter let out a wet choking noise before loosening his grip and dropping his knife, and Serrah used the opening to finish the job, turning to the side and throwing herself backwards onto the ground with a heavy thud. The man yelped in pain, and Serrah could’ve sworn that she heard something underneath her break, but she spared no pity for him and quickly readjusted herself on top of him. She lifted her skirt and draped it over the hunter’s head, smothering his face with her hairy asscheeks. Serrah giggled as the man whined and gagged underneath her, no doubt choking on her butt’s stagnant fumes. While straightforward threats of violence against trespassing humans were typically a useful deterrent, sometimes, a little gross-out action was in order so that the intruders really got the message.
“I mean, what’ll your wife say?” Serrah teased, grinding her crack against the man’s nose. “Imagine coming home with the smell of ogress ass all over your face! She’d probably leave you on the spot. Unless she passes out from the stench first, any — OW!”
Serrah looked down to see four thin trails of blood forming on her thigh. The jerk had managed to wriggle a hand free from underneath her and rake his fingernails down her hip. It wasn’t a deep wound, by any means, and once the shock wore off, Serrah realized that it didn’t even hurt that much. But Serrah’s pride had taken a deeper cut. It was time to wrap this up, and she had the perfect finale in mind. The ogress grit her teeth and forced a sickly-sweet tone as she spoke to her captive again.
“Aww, looks like someone’s getting a little cranky,” she crooned. “I think that you could use a nap!”
Serrah lifted herself off of the hunter and dragged him by his ankle deeper into the swamp. The assailant, now reeking of swamp juices and sweat, spat out seemingly every curse and swear that he could think of. “Bitch,” this. “Whore,” that. “Monster, abomination, freak of nature.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. Serrah had heard them all before, and they didn’t sting nearly as much as they used to. If this asshole wanted a freak, she’d give him one.
“We’re here!” The ogress said with an extra bit of cheer, letting go of the hunter’s ankle and lifting him up by the shirt collar to show him where he’d be spending the night. In front of them was a wooden outhouse just slightly taller than Serrah. The slanted roof was draped with moss and leaves, and the structure itself looked fairly rickety. In lieu of a door handle was a braided rope loop, with a crescent moon carved into the wood just above it.
“You got a name, buddy?” Serrah asked.
“Fuck you!” the hunter spat back, earning a solid punch to an already battered ribcage that caused him to break into a coughing fit.
“Well, ‘Fuck You,’” Serrah growled with a predatory grin, “this is my outhouse! My pride and joy. It’s one of the first things that I built when I moved out here, actually. And I spend a lot of time in there, let me tell you. The swamp diet isn’t exactly easy on the guts, if you catch my meaning.”
The man shuddered in disgust, earning a grin from Serrah before she went on.
“More importantly for tonight, though,” she said, pulling the door open and letting loose a wall of feces-tinged stench that collided with the two of them like a brick. “It’s where you’ll be spending the night!”
The hunter opened his mouth to respond and immediately regretted it, dry heaving on the thick, hot odor that emanated from the pit in the center of the outhouse. Serrah, meanwhile, took whiff after greedy whiff of the funk, treasuring it as though it were the finest of perfumes. And to an ogress like her, it may as well have been.
“Oh, what’s wrong?” Serrah asked with feigned concern. “Is it the smell? It’s the smell, isn’t it? Don’t worry! You’ll have plenty of time to get used to it.”
Serrah could tell from the hunter’s wavering lips that rapid breathing that he wanted to beg for his freedom. No, not even. He genuinely would’ve preferred being skinned and eaten over spending a night choking on the rank stink of ogre piss and shit. But Serrah couldn’t have cared less. She let the hunter watch her false smile turn into an indifferent scowl before throwing him into the outhouse and slamming the door behind him. The ogress quickly grabbed some nearby reeds and rope before tying the outhouse door shut, the move accompanied by the loud banging, coughing, and cursing of the facility’s new occupant.
“Release me, ogre!” the prisoner demanded. “Release me or I swear, the moment I escape I — ugh! URK!”
The hunter fell into another coughing and gagging fit, the sounds of his nausea music to Serrah’s ears.
“See you in the morning, friend!” Serrah jeered as she walked away. “And, hey! If you get hungry, I left something for you in the bucket in that pit! Huh. I wonder if that’s where the smell’s coming from…”
The ogress laughed heartily as the banging and swearing intensified in volume and speed. The began heading back in the direction of her home before cursing to herself. She had almost forgotten the other two hunters!
“Ugh…” she moaned into her hands. “I just want to go to bed already!”
Serrah trudged back to the unconscious trespassers, picked one up in each hand, and marched them to the edge of the nearby forest where they had come from before unceremoniously throwing them to the ground. They’d likely wake up soon, and if they were smart, they’d scurry back to their homes and pretend like this whole adventure had never happened. If they chose to come back, well… there was always room in the outhouse for two more.
The night’s escapades finally over, Serrah headed back to the home that she had made for herself over the course of several years. Carved into the large tree that she had slept in when she’d first arrived in the swamp was a cozy little house that Serrah had built with far too much trial and error to admit to. The top of the tree had been chopped off and excavated to form a sort of chimney, and the tree’s interior had been completely hollowed out and filled with different rooms, each one with its own set of handmade furniture and trinkets. There were two main rooms: a bedroom and a hybrid living room and kitchen. The former was where Serrah was heading, but not before nibbling on some slug eyes that she had been in the middle of eating at her dining table when she was so rudely interrupted by the trespassers.
“Hoe—lee, Mr. Scrumpy!” Serrah yelled with exaggerated exhaustion as she kicked her bedroom door open. “You would not believe the night I just had.”
Mr. Scrumpy sat at the head of Serrah’s bed, his smile just as cheery as ever. The doll was definitely showing his age, with random splotches of mud and debris staining his once pristine body and outfit. His right ear and left button eye had long since come off, having been respectively replaced by a tightly-bound and dried bundle of weeds and a poorly-chiseled wooden eye. He wasn’t much for chatter, but Serrah didn’t mind. He was more of a sounding board of sorts. A way for Serrah to talk to herself without feeling like a lunatic. And besides, talking to Mr. Scrumpy sometimes made her feel like she was talking to her parents like she used to.
“Thanks for holding down the fort,” Serrah chirped before flopping onto her bed. “I can always count on you.”
Serrah sighed and shimmied under her covers, holding Mr. Scrumpy under her arm while doing so before cuddling him close to her chest. In the following silence, the ogress could faintly hear what sounded like the trapped hunter’s sobs and coughs as he continued to bang against the outhouse door. It could’ve been her imagination, but Serrah hoped that it wasn’t.
“What?” Serrah asked Mr. Scrumpy, sensing mild disapproval. “He was going to kill me! He’s lucky I didn’t shove him straight down that pit and squat right over him before… ah, whatever. I thought it was funny, so screw you.”
Serrah looked over to her bedside table and saw the earwax candle illuminating the room start to flicker. It might’ve been the universe’s way of telling her to go to bed. Serrah sniffed and reached over to pinch the candle out, coating the room in darkness.
“Just remind me to let that guy out tomorrow, okay?”
Mr. Scrumpy, as had always been the case, said nothing. Serrah smiled and kissed him on the forehead.
“I love you, too.”
********************
Serrah awoke to the sound of birdsong and buzzing insects, the sun shining a beam directly into the center of her room. The humid air had caused the slumbering ogress to become soaked in sweat overnight, her body hair slicked across her form. Serrah sat up and yawned, licking her teeth and loosening some residue from yesterday’s meals. She scratched the top of her hairy asscrack and looked over at Mr. Scrumpy, who had fallen off of the bed during the night.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” Serrah joked. “What, was I snoring too loud?”
She hopped out of bed and grabbed her doll, putting him back in his rightful place before doing some stretches to loosen her joints. A few pops and cracks later, Serrah felt ready to start her day. But there was something off. Something that she was supposed to do. Something important…
“Oh, shit!” she said with a laugh, putting a hand up up to her forehead. “The hunter! Scrumpy, why didn’t you remind me?”
With another fit of giggles, Serrah hurried out of her home and made her way to the outhouse. The banging and yelling had long since ceased, but Serrah wasn’t ready to drop her guard just yet. Bending her knees in preparation to rush a possible attacker, she loosened the bindings on the outhouse door and yanked it open. The hunter, who had seemingly collapsed against the door, fell flat on the ground, completely unconscious. His mouth was lined with bits of drool and what appeared to be vomit. Serrah winced a bit. As proudly disgusting as she was, puke was something that she still had a hard time liking. Serrah also noticed some scratch marks on the inside of the door, which made her smile. The poor little guy tried to claw his way out!
“Good morning, buddy!” Serrah said with as much fake sweetness as she could muster. “I’m sorry to wake you up. You looked so cozy in there! But I think that it’s time for you to head on home, don’t you think?”
Nothing. Not a word from the fatigued hunter. Serrah chuckled to herself as she kneeled down and got face to face with the pathetic man in front of her.
“Okay, then,” she said with a more more serious tone. “Let’s try method number two.”
Serrah started swallowing as much air as she could, her already rotund gut lightly swelling up. Right when it started to hurt, she grabbed the hunter’s face, brought it directly in front of her own, and let out a massive, guttural belch. Spittle and chunks of food flew out of Serrah’s mouth and blanketed the man’s face. The noise of the outburst sent nearby birds flying for cover, and the smell was enough to send even surrounding flies spiraling down to the ground in disgust. Finally, the hunter woke up, whether from the sound or the stench, Serrah couldn’t have cared less. He immediately began trying to pull away from the ogress’ face once he realized what was going on, and fortunately for him, Serrah’s burp had reached its conclusion, so she gladly slammed him back against the dirt and waited for him to scurry back up.
“So how was it?” Serrah asked with a sarcastic smirk. “Cramped? Stuffy? All of the above? You know, you may not have bagged an ogre last night, but you definitely smell like one!”
“You…” the hunter half-mumbled, attempting to rise to his feet but falling to his knees. “You disgusting, abominable… I’ll have your head…”
“Aw, man. I think that my stink fried your brain! That’s a shame. Well, fortunately, you have the rest of the day to clear your head! And you know where the best place to refresh your brain is?”
Serrah’s smile faded as she grew stone-cold serious.
“Anywhere but here. As far away from here as you can possibly go. Because believe me when I tell you that last night was me being merciful. If I ever see you on my land again, I won’t just lock you back in that outhouse. I’ll shovel my shit straight down your throat until you choke on it, and when you beg for me to save you, I’ll slit your neck open and watch the bloody slurry pour down your chest until your body stops twitching.”
The hunter’s face lost whatever color was left in it, his eyes growing wide and his breath quickening. Serrah brought her face as close to the hunter’s as she could before baring her teeth and narrowing her eyes.
“Do we understand each other?”
The man shakily nodded, appearing to finally accept defeat.
“Good,” Serrah said. “Now, if you would be so kind… GET OUT OF MY SWAMP!!!”
The hunter scrambled to his feet and took off running in an awkward, uneven stride, Serrah laughing all the while.
“Ah, man, that never gets old!” she said with a wistful sigh. With yesterday’s business finally wrapped up, Serrah had some new business to resolve. Specifically, business that focused on the newly-unoccupied outhouse.
“Thank the gods he’s gone,” Serrah said to herself while patting her gurgling stomach. “Time to add to the pile!”
The ogress entered the outhouse and shut the door behind her before dropping her skirt and relieving herself above her designated “shit-bucket,” the disgusting mound of mush growing just a bit taller while Serrah moaned and groaned in relief. She hadn’t lied to the hunter when she said that living off of swamp life did a number on her stomach, but she hardly minded. If anything, she loved seeing how her guts reacted to different foods. It was like her belly was a cauldron for magic spells, and her bodily functions were a result of mixing different brews and potions together.
“Fuck, that’s the stuff,” Serrah grunted out as her ass finished its release. She grabbed a leaf off of a stacked pile on a counter near her and wiped herself as clean as she could before tossing the makeshift toilet paper between her legs and down into the pit. She stood to readjust her skirt and looked down at the small mountain of filth below her. A series of delightfully dirty ideas filled her mind, all of which involved having a bit of fun with her bucket of excrement. But she was willing to wait a bit longer before indulging herself like that. A few more visits to the outhouse would certainly give her more than enough material to work with. Serrah took one last gulp of foul-smelling air, shivered at the arousing sensation, and left the facility, finally ready to get her routine started for real.
First was her daily shower, which started with her grabbing a second bucket and scooping up a few patches of damp, loose mud. Finding material that was liquid and sticky enough to make for a good shower was harder than it might’ve sounded, but Serrah had it down to a science from years of practice. Once she arrived at her designated shower spot, she hung the bucket on a branch just above her head and stripped herself of her bra and skirt, both of which tended to be her only forms of attire. Both were made from the fur and hides of various animals that Serrah had hunted down in the past, and they, like her beloved doll, had also started showing signs of wear and tear, with both of them missing small patches of fur and having mud and slime stains in various places. But to Serrah, that just gave them character. Of course, Serrah didn’t mind walking around in the nude when she felt like it, either. Living alone in a swamp for two decades meant that modesty and bodily shame were completely foreign concepts to her. While her midsection was fairly round and large, it belied the dense muscle that made up most of her body. Serrah was definitely fit, having spent so much of her life doing manual labor to build and maintain her swamp home. Her arms and legs were the size of small tree trunks, and she was far more agile and quick on her feet than her large, domineering figure would suggest.
Serrah pulled a rope attached to the bucket and shivered with glee as the first few drops of cool, runny mud landed on her shoulders and drizzled down her back. A steady stream of the muck followed, and the ogress grabbed a brush hanging on a nearby tree branch before scrubbing the mud into her skin and all over her body. She made sure to really rub it in all of her creases and crevasses, including her armpits, her cleavage and between her asscheeks. Not only did a healthy coating of mud help to repel biting insects, the sensation of a thick, filthy ooze dripping all over her body was absolute bliss. Before the stream ended, she turned her head upwards and held her mouth open, letting the last few globs of mud fill her gaping maw. She gargled it and felt it bubble in the back of her throat and between her lips before taking a deep breath through her nose and spitting the mess out as far as she could. The wad of dirty spit made it at least a few inches further than the last time she’d done the exercise, which earned a self-assured chuckle from the ogress.
“New record, baby,” she said as she licked the silt off of her teeth and swallowed it, letting out a satisfied sigh afterwards.
Next came her dental and facial care. Serrah, her body covered in rapidly drying mud, made her way to a makeshift bathroom counter carved into yet another tree. Fastened to the tree just in front of Serrah’s face was a heavily cracked and distorted mirror, the imperfections caused by one too many crooked, stomach-turning grins from the ogress. Next to the mirror hung a wooden hairbrush and a thin, long animal bone, and below the mirror was a cup filled to the brim with wriggling insects of all kinds. Serrah grabbed the bone and briefly thought about which flavor of bug she was in the mood for before picking up a cockroach and holding it over her makeshift toothbrush. With a gentle pinch, the bug’s insides came squirting out, lining the bone with its guts and juices. Once every bit of roach goop had been squeezed out, she tossed the bug over her shoulder and stuck the soiled bone in her mouth, thoroughly scrubbing each tooth as well as her tongue and the roof of her mouth, both to ensure maximum cleanliness (by ogre standards, anyway) and to better savor the taste of the insect.
With her teeth properly looked after, she looked down to the two drawers that she’d carved into the tree and opened the bottom one. Inside was a small pile of slugs and snails either resting or slowly climbing on and over each other. Serrah grabbed one of the fatter slugs, held it up in front of her, and wrung it as hard as she could. The critter chittered in fright as it attempted to wriggle free, but the ogress refused to let it go until her hands were absolutely drenched in its slime. With the slug’s purpose fulfilled, Serrah absentmindedly slurped it down her throat in one swift motion, barely registering the taste but enjoying the sticky sensation all of the same. The ogress then rubbed the slime on her face as though it were human facial wash, the thick mucus providing her with an extra level of comfort. Serrah pushed the bottom drawer closed with her foot and open the top one, with contained a row of powders and dyes that she had made with the various flora and fauna that lived in the swamp. She set her sights on a dull red paste before dabbing a finger in it and rubbing it on her lips, the loose mixture blending with the slug slime to give her mouth a red, glossy sheen. Serrah also used another paste to give her eyelids a dark green hue before finally picking up the hairbrush and running it through her carrot-orange hair that had become muddy and stiff due to the morning’s activities. Flakes of dried earth peeled off her scalp, and a few tiny bugs that had been nesting in her hair were sent scattering. In the end, her hair, which reached her upper back, only looked marginally more “civilized,” as the humans would say, but Serrah loved the look. It gave her a wild, excited appearance that she absolutely adored.
The next hour was spent checking her various traps that she’d set throughout the swamp. She’d managed to catch a few mice, some squirrels, and even a fox. She also helped herself to a few grubs that had been caught in the surrounding spiderwebs, as well as some eggs that she’d found in an unattended bird’s nest. To catch fish, Serrah could’ve used standard nets, but her preferred method of hunting aquatic life was both a lot more fragrant and far more fun. Coming across one of her favorite ponds, she hopped inside and shivered as the cool water made her body tense and made some of the dried mud on her body flake off. Serrah bent her knees, clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, and grit her teeth as she ripped a series of hot, bubbly farts into the once-pristine pond. She sighed as the bubbles popped and hissed along her back and stomach, the stench and feeling of her gas giving her a special kind of high. Almost as soon as the stream of gas ended, a fish rose to the surface of the pond, followed by four more. All five of them had a look of absolute disgust frozen on their faces, their lives cut short by the most humiliating means possible.
“Well, that’s just rude,” Serrah said to one of the deceased fish before breaking into a fit of laughter. She then gathered the fish and made her way back to her kitchen, where she dropped her prizes off next to the rest of her collected foodstuffs. That did it for the meat. Now for the rest of the day’s chores.
The rest of the day went by quickly, with Serrah passing the time by gardening, painting, crafts-making, and doing whatever else crossed her mind, taking breaks to eat breakfast, lunch, and a few snacks in-between. By the time that the sun had started to set, Serrah had collected a new array of fruits and vegetables for her kitchen, made a new batch of “Keep Out” signs, and fashioned a new flower crown for herself. Serrah wasn’t sure when she’d ever wear it, as was the case with most of the fashion and accessories that she’d made, but making something with her own two hands always felt nice. Before she knew it, it was time for dinner, with Serrah sitting down with a bowl of worms and fish eyes across from Mr. Scrumpy, who had a much smaller bowl filled with reeds.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Serrah said with a wriggling mouthful of food, “maybe the next time that I try to ambush a group of hunters, I could be a bit more… theatrical with it, you know? Like maybe I quietly pick them off one by one until it’s down to one guy, and he’s pissing his pants because oh no! The big, bad ogre could be anywhere and all of his friends are gone! And then, right when he’s about to break, I lean in behind him and whisper something like ‘did you find ‘em yet?’ And then he pisses and shits himself before taking off running back home! So what do you think? Awesome, right?”
Mr. Scrumpy said nothing, his head slightly leaning forward towards his bowl.
“What? Too much?” Serrah challenged, seeing a worm start to make its way out of the bowl before jabbing it and an eyeball with her fork and shoving both down her gullet. “Okay, look. I know that I shouldn’t be getting to cocky with this stuff, but what else do you want me to do? If I’m going to be fighting these pricks off every other day for the rest of my life, I think that I’m entitled to a little fun! So, there.”
Serrah twirled her fork in her bowl and pulled up another batch of worms, which she swallowed down and chased with a swig of cider. The ogress pounded her chest and let out a short, loud belch before chuckling at the release and polishing off the rest of her meal.
“Ahh… simple, but satisfying!” Serrah exclaimed, scratching the patch of hair above her bellybutton and leaning back in her chair. “So, Scrumpy, uh… any plans for tomorrow?”
As continuously expected, Mr. Scrumpy kept his mouth shut, his head finally falling into his bowl.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” Serrah said dejectedly. She took a deep breath and looked outside of her window, the last traces of sun disappearing behind the trees. If she were lucky, then she’d soon be able to get a full night’s sleep. If she were unlucky, then another group of bounty hunters would be on her doorstep in a matter of hours, if not sooner. The latter felt more likely, but Serrah still hoped for the former as she put her and Mr. Scrumpy’s dishes back in her cupboard.
“You know, Scrumpy,” Serrah began, her stomach beginning to feel tight. “I, uh… well I want to talk to you about something. It’s been a pretty long time since… since you had a friend. A doll friend, anyway.”
Serrah paused and swore to herself. Why was she getting so anxious? She was talking to a fucking doll. But a slow trickle of memories began flowing through her mind. Memories that bit and stung at the corners of her brain. Memories of a girl. Her sunny, toothy smile. The gifts they’d made each other. The promises they’d made.
And the day it all fell apart.
“I, uh — ahem” Serrah stammered as she came back to reality. “Never mind all that. You d—you don’t need a new friend. You have me! And I have you! And… and we’re all that we’ll need. Okay?”
Mr. Scrumpy lay face down on the table, as if he had either fallen asleep or had lost interest in the conversation the moment it started. Serrah smiled and sat him upright, picking a tiny leaf off of his face. Mr. Scrumpy might’ve been an inanimate, silent pile of cloth and stuffing, but he was still the best friend that an ogress like her could ask for.
And your only friend.
Serrah winced at her mind’s attempt to rile her up, shaking the thought aside and carrying her doll to bed.
“‘Only friend,’” she mused to herself as she placed Mr. Scrumpy in his usual resting spot on her pillow. “And what if he is? I don’t need anyone else. It’s me, him, and the swamp. And that’s how it should be.”
Serrah checked outside again and saw that there was still a touch of sunlight in the sky, the clouds a beautiful assortment of pinks and oranges. It was way too early for her to go to bed.
“I’ll be right back,” the ogress said to Mr. Scrumpy, giving him a kiss on the head before heading to her kitchen and brewing a cup of tea. Once that was done, she headed to her porch and sat in one of her chairs, looking up at the slowly darkening sky. As the first few stars made their appearance, a chorus of frogs began croaking their songs, with a few crickets also joining in the music. Serrah took a sip of her tea, closed her eyes, and sighed.
“Me, you, and the swamp, buddy,” she said, raising her cup in a mock toast. “Cheers to that.”
Chapter Two
“And so, when I spoke to Loretta again the day after, I told her that if I ever caught her wearing the same dress as me at one of Annabeth’s parties again, I’d have no choice but to throw her entire wardrobe out and force her to start again! Oh, you should’ve seen the look on her face when I said that. A bit rude of me? Perhaps, but it’s not as though I’d actually do it of course.”
Lance Norwick struggled to keep from fidgeting as he forced himself to listen to the ramblings of the woman sitting across from him in the garden of his father’s estate. In most other circumstances, he would’ve simply politely excused himself and found a more interesting conversation partner, or better yet, retire to his room and curl up with a good book. But today, he had no such luxury. And it was because the lady who he was being forced to have breakfast with was none other than his bride-to-be. Roselle Adner, a beautiful name to match a beautiful face and spirit. She wore a light blue dress and yellow necklace that complimented her blonde hair and green eyes, with small, adorable freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. Her voice was light and sweet, like a spring breeze carrying the aroma of nearby flowers. And her personality was just as appealing, with her being able to charm and humor just about everyone that she came across. By all accounts, she should’ve been the perfect woman. And yet, more often than not, Lance found their dates and other interactions to be quite… dull.
It didn’t help that the relationship had been arranged by their parents. Lance was the son of Hanzel Norwick, the head of House Norwick and the most powerful figure in the town of Fairview, which he ruled over like a king. Roselle, on the other hand, was the daughter of Henry Adner, a wealthy banker who also had investments in and connections to other industries throughout the land. The two men, despite already having more money and influence than most men could ever dream of, believed that their power could grow even more if they joined forces. And so, only a month or so ago, it was decided that Lance would marry Roselle, his own wishes and objections be damned.
More importantly, though, Lance found Roselle’s idea of interesting conversation topics to be fairly dry and repetitive. The woman loved nothing more than to talk about the latest gossip surrounding her friends, or what the latest fashion trend was, or which business venture her father was considering launching. While Lance figured that the average socialite would be absolutely enamored by what he considered “ballroom talk,” he himself found it hard to truly get to know Roselle. He already knew that she was wealthy and surrounded herself with wealthy people. He wanted to know more.
“And so Annabeth said to me—um, excuse me? Lance? You seem to be staring off somewhere else.”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” Lance said, looking down at his breakfast of ham, fried eggs, and coffee. He’d barely even touched any of it. How long had he been zoning out? “I guess that my mind was elsewhere. My apologies.”
“You are forgiven,” Roselle said with a hint of humor in her voice as she spread a dollop of honey over a slice of ham. “If you tell me what you were thinking about, of course.”
“Are you sure?” Lance asked. “I don’t know if I’d consider it morning conversation.”
“Go on! I’m curious.”
Roselle rested her fork down and rested her chin on her palms, looking at Lance like an eager child ready for story time. Lance sighed. She asked for it, he supposed.
“I heard the staff this morning whisper about another failed raid on the ogress’ home last night.”
The excitement in Roselle’s eyes quickly vanished as her nose scrunched up at the word “ogress.”
“You were right,” she said flatly as she hesitantly picked up her fork. “It is too early in the morning for ogre talk.”
Lance smirked and took a sip of his coffee. “You wanted to know, didn’t you? May I continue?”
Roselle rubbed her brow and let out a playful, exaggerated groan of frustration.
“Very well,” she relented. “But I beg you to not go into too much detail about the ogre. I’m still eating, after all.”
She put a small piece of ham in her mouth, as if to accentuate her point.
“Well, for starters, it’s ‘ogress’ in this case,” Lance said. “Hunters have consistently reported her as being female.”
“A monster is a monster, Lance,” Roselle interjected. “No need to argue on its behalf.”
Lance sighed, unsure why the woman’s comment rubbed him the wrong way. Regardless, he continued.
“The rumor around the manor was that a small group of tavern regulars had a bit too much to drink and thought that they’d cut the ogress’ head off and offer it to the highest bidder. They set off towards the swamp as soon as night fell, but most of them returned in only a few hours, fearing for their lives. Two more supposedly returned early this morning, one of which was missing a few teeth. But one man… one man has yet to be seen since he left last night.”
“Gods, enough!” Roselle whined, cupping her face in her hands. “I don’t want to hear anymore of this! My goodness, the poor man. I hope that the monster didn’t finish him off.”
Lance felt a pang of guilt for scaring his betrothed like that. He had no intention of ruining what had been a fairly pleasant morning. But this was the first time since their date started that he had felt actually invested, and he had no intention of slowing down now.
“Do you want to know something else?” he asked.
“No,” Roselle answered firmly.
“Just one more thing.”
“Lance, please…”
“It’s interesting! I promise!”
Roselle uncovered her face and stared daggers at Lance for a moment that went on for far too long before sighing and massaging her forehead.
“Fine,” she said. “I surrender. What is it?”
Lance flashed a small grin again and leaned in close, as though what he was about to say were some earth-shattering secret and not a juicy bit of hearsay from one of the estate’s chefs.
“The man that’s missing? Erlick Strauss.”
For the first time since the discuss of the ogress started, Roselle seemed genuinely intrigued, her eyes widening and her mouth opening slightly.
“Really?” she asked. “That Erlick Strauss?”
Lance shrugged and sniffed. “Do you know any others?”
Erlick was something of a walking cautionary tale for the residents of Fairview. He was once a knight under the employ of House Norwick that wanted for nothing and had the respect and admiration of the entire town. However, his charmed life came to an abrupt end when his wife caught him in bed with not one, but two of the barmaids who worked at the tavern Erlick frequented. She divorced him a week later, leaving Fairview and taking half of Erlick’s wealth and possessions with her. Desperate to reclaim what he felt was rightly his, he took to gambling, an activity that he was unfortunately very bad at. Having lost the remainder of his wealth, as well as his upstanding reputation, he was dismissed from House Norwick’s employ, and he had spent every day since then drinking and ranting to whoever would listen about what a hero he once was and how his louse of a wife had stolen his entire life from him.
“Okay, I admit it,” Roselle said. “That’s definitely interesting. And I feel a bit more confident in his chances of survival against the monster now, even if his swordsmanship has dulled over the years.” She took a bite of her egg before continuing. “You and him were fairly close while he worked for your father, correct?”
Lance’s lip briefly twitched into a small frown before resuming its neutral position. “‘Close’ is… definitely a stronger word than I’d like. But we were acquainted, yes. It’s actually a shame he hasn’t returned yet. I was hoping to pick his brain a bit regarding the encounter.”
“Lance, what could Erlick possibly tell you about the creature that we don’t already know?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not every day that someone spends an entire night in an ogress’ territory. I was just… curious, is all.”
Roselle scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What? You wanted to know what a slumber party with that monster would be like?”
Lance felt his cheeks grow warm as he briefly averted his gaze from Roselle to his plate.
“You’re probably right,” he said as he poked at his food. “It’s foolishness. We should instead be praying that Erlick returns safely.”
“Agreed,” Roselle said, her tone more relaxed than before. “Now, no more ogre talk, and I mean it this time! It’s a beautiful day! Why don’t we discuss something more uplifting? Ooh! Have I told you about my father’s recent trip to the southern continent?”
Lance stifled a moan of boredom. “No, my beloved. You have not.”
Roselle clapped her hands in excitement. “Perfect! Alright, so, it was my father and three of his associates, you see? And they had heard word of oil deposits being uncovered in the south…”
********************
A few hours later, when Roselle had finally departed back to her own abode on the other side of Fairview, Lance decided to go for a walk through the middle of town to clear his head and see how House Norwick’s subjects were faring. His father would occasionally do the same, albeit on horseback and flanked by a small group of knights for protection. Violent crime was a complete rarity in Fairview, but that didn’t stop Hanzel from fearing for his safety whenever he strayed too far from the manor. Lance, on the other hand, preferred to walk by his lonesome, a hobby that his parents didn’t approve of but had long since stopped trying to keep him from.
Lance also made it a point to ditch his formal nobleman attire and instead don something akin to what the commoners wore. Today, his outfit consisted of a brown, long-sleeved shirt, blue pants, and flat brown shoes. Completely unremarkable, which was just what he wanted. He wanted to be seen and treated as just another citizen, not as someone to be groveled or bowed before.
Fairview was a relatively small settlement, if still fairly developed and lively. The population numbered in the low thousands, but grew with each passing year. Under House Norwick’s leadership and protection, Fairview had gained a reputation for being a safe, family-oriented community that had also become home to a number of wealthy and influential figures due to its desirable position as a trading post. However, the town’s prestige had taken something of a hit in recent years due to the presence of an ogress in the nearby swamplands. No one was sure where she’d come from, but everyone from the poorest beggar to Hanzel Norwick himself believed her to be both a bad omen and a threat to the peace. Hundreds of raids, both sanctioned and unsanctioned by House Norwick, had been attempted on the swamp, with Lance’s father even putting up his own bounty on the ogress’ head to encourage challengers. All had ended in failure, with elite knights and low-born bounty hunters alike returning from the swamp bloodied, reeking, and humiliated.
“That thing is a demon,” Lance recalled his father saying to his wife Anza after yet another round of knights returned from the swamp in defeat. “What other kind of monstrosity is capable of taking on so many of Fairview’s finest?”
“None, as far as I know,” his mother replied. “Some days, I wish that His Majesty would give us permission to raze the whole swamp to the ground one time and let us be done with it.”
All three of them knew that that was unlikely. A fire that large would undoubtedly spread to the surrounding forest and burn the origin of many of Fairview’s resources to cinders. But it didn’t stop the elder Norwicks from dreaming.
Lance made his way through the streets of Fairview’s shopping and dining district, with various vendors lining the sidewalks offering their wares. He also saw the Lady Luck tavern up ahead, with discordant music and raucous laughter flooding outside from the windows. Lance smiled to himself. As obnoxious as the clientele could be, the young man had fond memories of the place. Years ago, he had snuck out in disguise in the dead of night to have his first mug of ale, long before he had had his “official” first taste of alcohol by means of a glass of wine offered to him by his father.
Lance’s stomach growled as he smelled something being grilled from inside of Lady Luck. Steak, perhaps? He could certainly go for a sandwich and a virgin beverage. He was just about to enter when he heard a familiar voice coming from nearby. He couldn’t quite make the words out, but he recognized the tone almost immediately. Slowly, he made his way around the tavern and into the back alley, where he found none other than Erlick Strauss himself ranting to no one in particular as he violently scrubbed what looked to be his hunting garb with a filthy sponge above a wooden bucket. He himself was wearing little more than a ragged black shirt and a matching pair of shorts. His brown hair, once shiny and well-maintained, had grown long and stringy alongside his beard, his already beady eyes had sunk even further into his face, and he had lost a significant amount of muscle mass since he’d worked under House Norwick. To put it simply, he looked awful, and while Lance had never felt any true warmth towards the man, he also couldn’t help but feel bad seeing him in a prison of his own making.
“‘Need a bath and a half,’ he says,” Erlick hissed. “I’ve served this town longer than he’s been alive. Have a half a mind to drag him to see the monster himself. See how he fares.”
The disgraced knight halted his rambling and looked up at Lance, who suddenly felt embarrassed for staring so intently. His unease only amplified when Erlick flashed him a leering, unfriendly grin.
“Well, if it isn’t the young master himself,” he said. “Forgive me for not announcing my return sooner. I had… other business to attend to.”
“It’s quite alright,” Lance replied. “You know that you don’t have to report to House Norwick anymore. Still, I’m glad to see you faring well.”
Erlick dropped his sponge into the bucket as he laughed heartily.
“”Faring well’? Is that what you call this? You can call me what I truly am, young Norwick. You know you want to.”
Lance shook his head and began to reply before he caught a whiff of something coming from Erlick. Something foul. It reeked like a combination of skunk spray and spoiled meat, and below it was an undertone of… fecal matter?
“I see that you finally got a lungful,” Erlick jeered. “It’s the monster. I caught its scent. Go on. Laugh at me! Take your best shot at your old Uncle Erlick!”
Lance said nothing, instead allowing the scent to enter his nose and pervade his senses. He logically understood that was he was smelling was bad. Nauseating, even. And he still had to fight the minor urge to step back and pinch his nose closed. But more than disgusted, he was fascinated. Was this what ogres smelled like? Was it a natural musk, or was it something deliberately cultivated? And which part of the body did it come from?
“I, uh…” Lance began before quickly shaking his head and coming back to his senses. “No, Erlick. I have no desire to make fun of you. You fought… you fought well, and you deserve my respect for that. But if you don’t mind me asking, I’d… I—I’d very much like to hear more about your encounter with the ogress.”
Erlick looked Lance up and down and sniffed. “As if. No disrespect to you, my former liege, but I’ve suffered more humiliation in one night than most men will suffer in their entire lifetimes, and I know that, if you heard the tale, you’d certainly be unable to keep from spreading the word like wildfire. No, I’d much rather retain some dignity while I still have the ability, thank you.”
Lance was tempted to make a remark about how Erlick was currently in his underwear behind a tavern scrubbing ogress stench out of his clothes and was in no position to talk about dignity, but he swallowed the comment and tried a more persuasive angle.
“You’re in a poor spot, it seems, my old friend. I’m sure that there must be something that I can do to make your day a bit easier to bear? A purchase that I could make?”
Erlick stared deep into Lance’s eyes for several seconds, his mouth curled into a thoughtful frown. Finally, the former knight relented.
“This tavern,” he started, hands shaking in frustration. “This absolute dung heap! I entered moments ago after my encounter with the creature and politely asked the pimple-faced bartender for the strongest ale that they had. The weak-stomached imp nearly vomited on me from the smell the ogress had marked me with and said that he couldn’t serve me until I were more presentable. He even had another worker give me this sponge and bucket! As if they’d thought I’d never heard of cleanliness in my life!”
Lance had to physically restrain Erlick from kicking the bucket into the tavern wall, quickly working to figure out what the man was working his way to asking for.
“Understood! Understood! I’ll be right back with your ale. Just… keep your wits about you.”
Erlick said nothing and spat in the tavern’s direction while Lance fetched the beverage. A few minutes later, Erlick was sitting against the wall sipping on his ale, one hand clutching his head. Lance stood above him, gazing at the man with a mix of pity and distaste.
“Much appreciated, young Norwick,” Erlick managed to get out, resting his half-filled mug on the floor. “Now, how about that story before I finish this mug and start to lose more sense than I already have?”
Lance struggled to hide his childlike excitement, settling for a simple “I would like that.”
Erlick took another deep swig of his drink before recounting his tale. According to the former knight, he had been a couple mugs deep the afternoon prior and had given a rousing speech of sorts rallying other drunken townsfolk to his cause: slaying the ogress and restoring honor and prestige to Fairview, or something like that. He and eleven others armed themselves with torches and various weapons before storming their way towards the swamplands near the forest. They approached the ogress’ home and made it only a few steps onto her land before she made herself known. Lance’s ears perked up at the mention of the swamp woman. Finally, this was what he wanted to know.
“What was she like?” the young noble asked. “Was she like the stories say?”
Erlick sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The creature was… massive. Eight feet tall, if I had to guess. And it wasn’t just tall, young Norwick. It was big. Its fist looked to be bigger than my head!”
Her fist, Lance muttered in his head.
“And its skin,” Erlick continued. “As green as the moss and weeds that gave rise to it. It was an awful shade, I’ll tell you. And the beast was covered in… what looked to be a thin layer of hair. Orange hair from the long strands on its head to the tiny wisps near its feet. Wisps that looked like they belonged on a human man like you or I!”
Lance nodded, doing his best to build a mental picture of what the ogress looked like. Tall, heavyset, green, and hairy. A bizarre appearance, maybe, but not necessarily terrifying. Not to him, at least.
“But the worst part wasn’t the monster’s size or appearance…” Erlick went on, his face forming a grimace as Lance became even more enraptured. “Young master, these creatures… they’re positively vile!”
Lance felt his heartbeat pick up its rhythm just a bit. “How vile, exactly?”
Erlick let out a small shudder. “It started with the smell. No, the stench. A solid wall of mud and rot and flatulence and gods know what else that rose from the creature and practically shoved itself right into our noses and mouths. I could taste the monster’s filth on my tongue, young master. But even if you get past its odor, there’s even more evidence of its lack of hygiene. When it bared its teeth at us, I swore that I could see something moving inside of its mouth. An insect. Maybe several. And its lips were dripping with thick gobs of spittle that you could almost hear falling to the ground. When it roared at us, I could actually feel a few drops of saliva hit my face! I’d never felt the urge to vomit more than I did in that moment, but I held my ground!”
Lance listened intently, his stomach tightening at the grotesque imagery that Erlick was painting for him. But it wasn’t nausea that he was feeling. Once again, it was an uneasy sense of intrigue. He wanted to hear more. More about the ogress’ foul habits. No, more about the ogress in general!
“And… and how did… what did she do to you? How did you end up like… this?”
Erlick bit his lip and averted his gaze for a moment, all while Lance silently pleaded for him to continue.
“If a word of this reaches anyone else’s ears…” Erlick hissed.
“It won’t,” Lance said quickly. “On my honor.”
Erlick stared at Lance for several painfully long moments before downing the last of his ale and resting the mug down with trembling hands.
“My companions had all either fled or been defeated. I was alone in fighting the monster. I did my best to subdue it, but it got the upper hand, and it… and it…”
Erlick covered his mouth with one hand, as though he were about to either cry or scream.
“It dragged me to where it relieves itself. It opened the door and threw me inside for the night. I did my best to escape, but I had no such luck. I spent hour after hour inhaling nothing but the putrid scent of ogre shit. It seeped into my clothes, my hair, and my skin. I almost choked on my own vomit. A part of me wishes that I did! Death would’ve been preferable to that sort of humiliation! The monster came back in the morning. It let me out and threatened to subject me to an even worse punishment if I ever set foot on its land again. And after what I suffered… I’m inclined to believe it.”
Erlick grabbed his mug and petulantly threw it as hard as he could against the wall opposite him before cupping his face in his hands. Lance, meanwhile, was still processing what he had heard. He had never heard of such a revolting form of torture before. The idea of being forced to smell ogre excrement… and the ogress promised worse? What could be worse? And why would he even want to know?
“So that’s my tale,” Erlick said with a heavy sigh. “What am I even doing out here? I could scrub myself raw all through the night. The stench will remain long after. Gods damn that monstrosity…”
Lance had several more questions that he wanted to ask, but he thought it best to leave the former knight alone. Both because he wanted to give the older man time to process his encounter and because he wanted to head back home to do some research.
“Thank you for the story, Erlick,” he said. “I wish you the best in tidying yourself up. If you need a new change of clothes, I’m sure that my father would be willing to provide you with one.”
Erlick snorted but nodded regardless. “The offer is appreciated. Now get on out of here. And remember: not one word.”
Lance nodded in return before heading back to the Norwick estate, his appetite long forgotten, but his interest in the ogress brought to new heights.
********************
“I’m sorry,” Hanzel said, his tone quiet but stern. “I must’ve misheard you. You wish to face off against the ogress?”
“Your boy has clearly listened to too many tales from around town,” Lance’s mother Mirna scoffed. “He has no business trying to play monster slayer.”
Lance sighed. “I’m right here, you know.”
The young man had invited his parents into his room to discuss an idea that he’d had. While he’d been rolling it around in his head for weeks, his talk with Erlick finally gave him enough courage to try to make it a reality.
“I know, sweetheart,” Mirna said. “But you must understand that not even our greatest knights have been able to claim the monster’s head. You’ve a good swordsman, but far from an expert. I say this with love, Lance. You have no chance of killing that beast.”
“I’m not interested in killing anything!” Lance griped. “I just want to do some surveillance, is all. Scout out her… its… territory. Learn more about its habits. Look for weaknesses. That sort of thing.”
Hanzel let out a humorless laugh that left his son feeling rather small. “What else is there for us to learn about it? It dwells in disease and rot and wishes to feast on our guts and bones!”
“No, you’re not listening!” Lance shot back, immediately regretting it. He wasn’t used to getting into arguments with either of his parents. His father and mother gave commands, and he obeyed them. That was what it meant to be a son of House Norwick. He was an extension of his parents’ wills. Or at least, that was the idea.
“Sorry, it’s just…” Lance pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath before continuing. “We’ve all been raised on stories of ogres being these… bloodthirsty, repulsive, mindless monsters. Embodiments of all that is evil and inhumane. But what if we’ve gotten it all wrong?”
Mirna raised an eyebrow, seemingly unsure of where her son was going with this. Lance swallowed a lump in his throat and continued.
“I mean, there was a point in time where our ancestors considered bears and wolves to be bad omens sent by the gods to punish mankind. But as time went on, we learned that they were just… animals. Dangerous animals, yes, but animals all the same.”
Again, Lance found himself hating the way that he talked about the ogress. Likening her to an animal? Really? But he seemed to have his parents’ intrigue, if only for a moment. If he had to play their game, then so be it.
“I’d argue that this ogress is similar to the aforementioned beasts. Violent and temperamental, sure, but still an animal all the same. Animals have their own behaviors. Their own biologies. They can be studied and further understood. If we were able to get a better understanding of how the ogress’ mind works, then we might be able to not just out-fight it, but outsmart it.”
“Do you really think that you’re the first person to suggest studying ogre behavior?” Hanzel asked. “Book after book has been written on those creatures.”
“I know,” Lance said quickly, hoping that he wasn’t losing his audience. “Believe me, I know. I’ve read those books cover to cover dozens of times since I was little. But… and this may sound odd… is it possible that we’re missing something?”
“‘Missing something?’” Mirna mused. “Like what?”
“Like… I… I mean, uh…”
Lance felt his cheeks redden as he couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say. Finally, he mustered up the courage to come out with, if not the full truth, than definitely some of it.
“Listen, Mom, Dad, I… I’ve been interested in ogres for as long as I could remember. The moment I learned what they were, I knew that I had to know everything that I could about them. Where they came from. Why they looked like they did. Why they behaved the way that they did. And this ogress near out town? I can’t stop thinking about her!”
Lance’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d just said.
“Not, like, in a romantic way, of course! Gods, no! But in a more scientific way. This monster who’s sent Fairview’s finest running for safety? Who makes a mockery out of politeness and hygiene? I have to know more about her. I have to see her with my own eyes at least once in my life.”
The room went quiet for a while, with Lance wondering if he’d said too much about his desire to meet the famed ogress. His fascination with ogres had always been a source of embarrassment for him, but he couldn’t keep the lid on his dream forever.
Finally, after what felt to the young nobleman like the most excruciating set of seconds ever, Hanzel relented.
“Very well, son,” he said. “You’re a grown man now, after all. I suppose it’s only fair for you to catch a glimpse of the creature that’s been tormenting us for all of these years.”
Hanzel turned to his wife. “See to it that our son is accompanied by a small party on his survey expedition. I’m thinking no more than fi—”
“Um, actually,” Lance interrupted. “I was, uh, hoping that I’d be able to go alone.”
His parents’ eyes went wide in almost perfect unison.
“‘Alone?’” Mirna asked in disbelief. “There are easier ways to get yourself killed, you know!”
“I don’t want to scare the ogress!” Lance argued. “Or at least, I don’t want to arouse suspicion. Erlick’s hunting party just returned from an attempted raid. The monster will be on edge and looking for any reason to lash out. I’d have a better chance of staying undetected if I went to the swamp by myself. And regarding Erlick’s attack… it’s also why I think that leaving tomorrow morning would be best.”
Mirna rolled her eyes and began to argue before Hanzel raised a hand to silence her. He glared at his son, appearing to assess his likelihood of returning from the swamp in one piece.
“Alright,” Hanzel said quietly, his tone cold as ice. “I see what this is. You wish to prove yourself a man, is that it? Have at it. But know this. If you do not return from your little adventure exactly one day after you depart, I will send every last Fairview resident, knight and commoner alike, into that swamp to retrieve whatever’s left of you and burn that putrid cesspit to ashes with the beast inside, your research be damned. Am I understood?”
Lance swallowed and nodded, the idea of the ogress’ home being razed to the ground chilling his blood.
“Good,” Hanzel said. “Now, it’s getting late. Go to your room and gather your belongings. You’ll leave at first light.”
Lance barely stifled a grin as he rose, thanked his parents, and ran to his room. Once there, he locked the door and began packing his things. Food rations, a change of clothes, a journal for note-taking, a map, a dagger…
Lance paused and looked down at the weapon in his hand. He ran his thumb up and down the hilt and sighed.
No, he thought. No one’s spilling any blood tomorrow.
He shook his head and put his dagger back in storage. This was purely an educational mission. His countrymen may have been salivating at the chance to take the ogress’ life, but Lance wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that.
Lance didn’t know where his lack of fear towards ogres came from. Like most kids his age, he’d grown up on stories of the supposedly monstrous creatures who would steal naughty children away and cook them for supper. As he got older, the stories became more detailed. One such tale claimed that ogres were created by a particularly mischievous god as the antithesis of everything that humans valued. Mankind lived in well-kept, fairly clean towns and cities. Ogres lived in filthy, murky swamps. Humans sought refinement, cleanliness, and good social graces. Ogres cherished the most nauseating aspects of nature and had no manners to speak of. It was an interesting story, but not one that Lance thought of as any more than fiction. Regardless of the ogre race’s true origins, however, it did seem as though humans were naturally repulsed by the species’ existence. It was like they tapped into some primal fear, like there was “something” about ogres that most people found worthy of death. And whatever that “something” was, Lance wasn’t put off by it at all.
He needed to study the ogress. He needed to scratch that itch in the back of his mind that had been driving him crazy for years. Why didn’t he fear ogres? Why did he have this bizarre interest in them? Why did he find them so…
…appealing?
Lance stopped mid-packing as the word popped into his mind before shaking his head, resuming his task, and shoving the thought to the side. “Appealing?” Surely not. As sympathetic as the young man was towards ogres, he definitely wasn’t interested in bathing in mud or eating cockroaches for breakfast. And living in a swamp? Definitely not his idea of a good time. He liked his clean clothes and his cozy bed quite well enough, thank you.
Lance chuckled to himself about the bizarre line of thinking, trying to ignore the weird tightness in his chest that felt when visualizing the typical ogre lifestyle.
“Appealing.” As if.