RWalyk

Gastronomically Gastronomic's coffee was subpar. Their danishes weren't anything extraordinary, just chunks of over-sweetened jams inside greasy pastry coated with squiggles of grainy frosting. The touted special, the Bowler Hat, was special only in form with its curved brim and upside-down dome, both made of sourdough; the soup that filled it reminded one of cardboard and plastic wrap coated with pepper and basil. Flamingo-inspired wallpaper was smeared on the café walls, unsettling orbs of orange-yellow and pips of black that followed customers unrelentingly, while the glaring hot-pink threatened to cause temporary blindness. Xar frequented this establishment far more than he cared to admit, and this was for one reason only: a certain barista. He'd yet to work up the courage to utter more than a few pleasantries and orders to the kaaraa, however. He'd begged Gathrok to tag along just this once. Usually, the scarlet-scaled bulk of a dragoid was too busy with repairs at Otto's Autos.

The town of Erass sat off the beaten path, its only visitors weary travellers and the occasional supplier. A small yet self-sustaining community of orcs lived there, revelling in the quiet company of their neighbours. The town was informally known as Repentant's Respite, and rightfully so, as nearly every orc that dwelled in its embrace harboured a past best left forgotten. Among them was Drun. He was a Davr·agan like the rest here, a run-of-the-mill orc with pale skin, crystal irises, and pointed ears. Aside from a tattoo on his shoulders, hidden from sight by a simple cotton shirt, he blended right in. During the week, he assisted in a repair shop, fixing odds and ends, usually farming tools. Though not nearly as skilled as the owner, he was still good enough to get personal requests. When he relaxed on the weekends, he tended to his miniature garden and whittled away at wood sculptures that he'd sell at the end of each month. He had little to complain about. As it was Gyndawi, the