“I-I’m sorry, sir, but… what… exactly are you? I hope you forgive my forwardness, but I wouldn’t even know what to put on the form. You are clearly not human, but neither are you dwarf nor elf.”
Questions about his ancestors were among the most common things Kraghtol had heard in his life, but never for the purpose of filling out a form. It would have made him smile if the situation wasn’t so serious.
“I’m mostly human, Mrs. Urdson. I was born to a human mother and adopted by Merrick Wulfspar. But yes, my original father was anorc, which would make me a half-orc. But I can assure you I mean no harm to anyone.”
“Half-orc.”
The lady rolled the words off her tongue as if to taste them.
“I can’t say to have seen anyone of your kind before. Neither in the guild nor in the city.”
“I hear that a lot,” Kraghtol said. “Is there a rule that prevents half-orcs from joining the school?”
As he had expected, this hit a nerve with Mrs. Urdson.
“Well, not technically, no. I do, however, have to admit I’m not quite sure how to proceed in this case. I would have to read the proper rules and ask around.”
Fascination filled Kraghtol. He had fully expected his green skin to be a problem here, but never that it would be for bureaucratic reasons.
“Well, um. I can wait here, no problem.”
Mrs. Urdson laughed a short laugh. It wasn’t completely insincere, but it conveyed well how ridiculous Kraghtol’s idea must have been.
“I’m afraid you underestimate how long it takes to deal with all the formalities. We are talking about hours, if not more.”
Every insecurity had vanished from Mrs. Urdson’s face. Now she was on familiar territory again.
“But worry not. I will record your name and address and send a letter with further proceedings once I have cleared that up. You can find scribes in almost every part of the city to read them to you, then.”
“Thanks, but I can read myself.”
This produced a raised eyebrow on the secretary’s side.
“Really. Oh, of course, you even mentioned your caretaker to be a healer. So, you’re probably his apprentice and got your dispense that way.”
She didn’t inquire any further, and Kraghtol could only nod. Mrs. Urdson was smart. Or at least well-versed in the laws regulating literacy. The Scribe’s guild did not allow just anyone to learn how to read and write, but only the few professions who needed it for their daily doing. Besides scribes and scholars, this also encompassed healers and alchemists.
After describing his current address — which produced another raised eyebrow — it was clear that Kraghtol wouldn’t get any further answers right now. Thanking the lady at the desk, he left the building with a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. Now, all he needed to do was wait a bit for the formalities to clear up!
Even though he got back to Calder’s tavern with only minimal detours, Kraghtol was afraid of missing the guild’s messenger, although without reason. The hours went by agonizingly slowly until the guests poured in later in the evening. Perhaps the patrons noticed how on edge Kraghtol was, or perhaps they still hadn’t adjusted to the presence of the half-orc. Whatever the reason, there was not a single incident that night other than Calder disappearing for lengthy amounts of time with some patrons into the back rooms, leaving it to Kraghtol to serve drinks to the remaining guests in the meantime.
When he asked him about it the next morning, Calder just shrugged and mumbled something uncommitted about ‘business talks’. Nothing more, no details, no comment on Kraghtol running the bar, and the half-orc didn’t ask. He was preoccupied with his ownnervousness, which only grew stronger as the day progressed. Mrs. Urdson had mentioned it could take hours until he heard from her or even longer, but she didn’t mention how long this ‘even longer’ would be.
When the sun set and the tavern opened, Kraghtol was little more than a nervous wreck. His job demanded little concentration, but it needed Calder to snap him out of his thoughts to notice that some patrons were getting loud and agitated.
He was on his feet in an instant, but when he arrived, the three drunks were already in a brawl. A fist barely missed Kraghtol’s face, and suddenly, he felt his mind clear.
This was familiar territory, and he was almost happy as the despised Orcish instincts took over.
“Hey!” he shouted.
“Stop right now, or you’re out.”
His words carried a growl in them, but nobody paid him any attention, so he grabbed the arm of one of the two men who had just tried to land a hit on his face.
“Did you hear what I said?”
The man, a large human who was a head smaller than Kraghtol, turned towards him and spat.
