I met an Orc at the bar last week. Which is odd with it being 2019, Parker Colorado, and it had been months since the last big cosplay convention had run. But there he was. I play enough video games and seen enough movies to recognize a bald dude with gray blue skin and tusks as an orc when I see one.

Anyway, this orc ordered a Tuaca on ice. I didn’t even know they still made that stuff. It’s like the Zima of brandy.

I started wondering if maybe it was a test run of a costume for the next Popculture Con(or whatever it’s going to be called next). I also realized I had been staring too long. He looked at me, black pupils with bloodshot yellow where the whites should be. I think his tusks grew a bit too.

I could hear the beginnings of a guttural growl. I quickly slapped the counter and said, “Holy shit, I didn’t know they still made Tuaca!” I quickly turned to the bartender, “Bartender! A glass of your finest Tuaca!” It was an obvious oxymoron.

Tarisk looked at me slowly, head to toe. Yep, his name was Tarisk. He told me that later since he wasn’t wearing a “Hi, my name is badge.” Anyway, Tarisk, jumped down from the stool, picked it up, and swung it at me like some kind of maniac!

Now, I’m gonna be honest here, this was not my best moment. He missed, but I still fell backward off the stool onto the floor. He tried to take advantage of my clumsiness, he lifted the stool over his head, and brought it down to crush me. Luckily, I managed to get my feet up between the stool and my chest. Now look at me, I’m not really a small guy plus I had leverage and the stability of the ground on my side. I kicked as hard as I could and Tarisk went flying backwards with the stool still in his hands.

I got up off the floor at about the same time as Tarisk did. There on the bar was our two Tuacas, on ice. He held his hand up and walked to the bar. He picked up his glass and held it out like he wanted to toast. I didn’t really trust him, but there we were. Besides, I didn’t really want to fight an orc that was probably willing to die over an insult either. I picked up my glass. Through his tusk impared mouth he shouted, “To Victory!” I shouted, “To Victory!” and hoped a tie was an okay victory with an orc.

We sat and talked for the next three hours. My IT job, his place in his horde. He really loved the Conan quote about what’s best in life too. I had to explain the lamentation thing, but he got it in the end. Anyway, he turned out to be a decent guy. I mean, he smelled awful, but what are you going to do when you drink cheap brandy and have an all rotting meat diet. He even alternated with me paying for each round. We killed that bottle of Tuaca and toasted one last time to victory.

And that’s why I’m sitting here alone in a bar, drinking Tuaca. I keep hoping he’ll come back for another round. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet an ogre or a goblin too. Stranger things have happened.