Orconomics (The Dark Profit Saga, #1)

by J. Zachary Pike

All things considered, however, it’s probably safe to say, without fear of controversy, that a crying bride is a bad sign.

Goblins do not excel at much, but they are masters at tactical retreat.

Like a bad hangover, a Goblin can make any experience much more unpleasant.

Some would say Dwarves are sensitive about their height, but not when Dwarves are within earshot.

He was sick of drinking, and sick of being sober, and regretting that those were essentially the only two options he, and everyone else, ever had.

Any professional hero will tell you that the most important step of any quest, big or small, is dividing the loot.

“Monster attacks are down by five and a half percent this quarter, sir. A twenty-three percent decline since last year. The average quest time from offer to completion is down sixty-three percent from last year.

The brothers of the Order of Adchul once famously saved a town from flooding by drafting a cease-and-desist letter to the river.

“I’d say you have a destiny, and choices are the steps you take to reach it.” Niln offered him a quill.

“Ye wait till ye’ve seen a bit of the world,” he grumbled, initialing the first page of the contract. “Ye’ll stop with such nonsense.” “And what makes you think that I haven’t seen enough of the world?” Gorm looked up from the contract straight into the priest’s mismatched eyes. “Yer still tryin’ to save it.”

“Ye can only play at being a hero for so long before the truth catches up to ye and kills ye in some horrible way.

It wasn’t a good list to be on; it was said that the only thing that could outlast Dwarven craftsmanship was a Dwarven grudge.

“I haven’t finished a quest in more than forty years,” she said. “I can get them started. I try, I really do. And then … I just feel like I need … you know? Something to take the edge off … and it gets all messed up.”

“My Elven’s a little rusty. On account of me never learning it.”

The only other woman in our party is the mage. And it’s no use trying my luck with the pyromancer. I’ve been burned before.”

The markets are down, Gorm, and the king’s coffers are emptying.

Success wasn’t a certainty, but it was a possibility, and that was better than he’d had a couple of nights ago.

warrior heroes came in only two varieties: those who knew how to fight mages, and extra crispy.

Not all who wander are lost; some are on quests.

“I’ve heard it said that gear does not make the hero.” “Aye, but gear does make the hero live longer,” said Gorm.

He’d never worked in a party of heroes that could entirely agree on what to have for breakfast, let alone how to complete a quest.

Still, monsters are better than taxpayers, right?” “Sorry?” “Both will try to squeeze the life out of you, but you can take an axe to the monsters.

“Kill and loot until you’re killed and looted.” “Yes, well, it’s risky, but the work we do is important,” said Kaitha. “We’re keeping the world safe,” said Heraldin. “Are we now?” asked Jynn. “It seems to me the Dwarf had the right of it. In the end, this is all about gold.”

“Is there a good way to be bankrupt?” said Jynn. “Morally,” suggested Heraldin.

“It don’t matter how we got here, or what the whole economy is doing with gross products, or anything. What matters is what we do, and why we do it. Maybe we can’t save the world, but maybe we’ll make the world a tiny bit better.”

The Scarg did fly ’twixt the Wizard Jynn and the Mage Laruna, and they did cast their Spelles Hastily, and each did blast the other from their steeds. And the Wizard Jynn did fly into the High Scribe Niln, who fell into the Bard Heraldin, who was holding a Grenade of Smoke, which he dropped upon the ground.

And now you’ve lost a slap-fight to a training golem.”

Something in the distant darkness roared, and then shrieked as it was eaten by something larger and more deadly.

In the Myrewood, the enemy of your enemy might just be very hungry.

Individually, a walking skeleton or a zombie was a nuisance on par with a door-to-door missionary from the Temple of Oppo; both had unnatural persistence, an unnerving grin, and a single-minded focus on making converts.

The Troll was like a mountain gorilla, but more mountain than gorilla.

“I want to talk. To parlay. To make a deal. It would also be nice to not get stabbed or hacked in the face while doing so, if that’s not too much trouble.”

So it was always wise to view an approaching mob of fifty or more Orc warriors with a healthy degree of caution.

He didn’t want a fight, but not as much as he didn’t want a public beheading.

Even in those rare moments when a Dwarf is nude, however, he usually carries an axe or small hammer with him, just in case.

“Marketing is its own kind of magic, is it not?” said Zurthraka. “An illusion that men pay to be fooled by.”

once the Orcish patrons realized it wasn’t the sound of a bar brawl starting, they quickly returned to bar brawls already in progress.

“So, that’s it? We run around killing and looting just to line our pockets and marginally improve people’s disposition.” Gorm shrugged. “It beats accounting.”

Just a few months ago, the well-regarded Silver Slayers were rumored to have met an unlikely end when their junior member broke rank and charged through a hatchery with an ill-advised war cry, awakening several Acid Drakes and their hungry progeny.

When he smiled at them for a fraction of a second, it was the kind of smile that says, regulation dictates that I must smile at you now.

“If all men are created equal, how can the best man win?”

The blade was hard to see, but Niln was certain it was very sharp, because it was buried to the handle in his chest.

“When the whole world goes crazy, what can you do but try to keep up?”

“Never again!” shouted Gorm. His eyes stung, and it wasn’t just the ash in the air. “I’ll never again have a better man than I actin’ like it’s the other way around, be they pink or green or brown or gray. You’re not me squire, me debtor, or me victim. You’re me friend, and that’s the only arrangement we’ll ever have from here on out. Understand?”