Mork The Handsome Orc: A Mythiverse Story

1

Breakfast

In the boggy marshes beyond the great volcano where the trees grow no leaves lived a young orc named Mork.

Mork had a life like any other orc. He spent his time wandering the boggy marsh, scavenging for all the delicious rotting flesh he could find. He enjoyed sculpting with molten lava from Mt. Draegorn in his free time. And he always stopped to feast on the blood of any birds that flew close enough to catch with his bare hands.

Today, however, was a school day. Mork woke up and rubbed himself with fresh mud and dirty leaves before morning chores and school.

The other orcs would have scabs to pick and pus-filled sores to juice. However, Mork was not like other orcs. He had no pus-filled sores, no scabs, not even a hairy mole.

Mork was a handsome orc.

No matter how often he bathed in mud and the blood of birds, fell and scraped himself on the rocks, or even pigmented his arms and face with inks, Mork’s skin always returned to a smooth, untextured, unblemished complexion.

Never once in his life did Mork shower or wipe away his smear. He couldn’t help that he was good-looking. Mork carried a heavy sadness within him. He didn’t fit in, no matter what he did or how much he tried. He couldn’t be as ugly as the other orcs.

Mork looked out of his cave, which he shared with his nine siblings, his mother, and his father, and saw the smoke from Mt. Draegorn filling the sky with a toxic blanket. The red glow of the lava run filled the canyon with a heat that no other living creature could survive. A few trees caught fire in the distance. The smoke billowed up and joined the smoggy blanket created by the volcano.

The sulfur smell filled his nostrils, and he breathed it in deeply. “Ah, another glorious morning,” Mork smiled. “Alright, guys, time to get up for school.”

Being the oldest, Mork’s job was getting his siblings ready for school, except for the three youngest, who were still just infants. Orcs usually gave birth to triplets, but Mork was born alone. Mork often wondered if being born alone was what caused his unusual beauty. His mother assured him that he was the most ferocious. Mork simply ate the other two orcs while they were still in utero.

“Come on, Merla, Marvis, and Mindy,” Mork shook the oldest triplets awake.

They snorted and snuffed but eventually climbed out of the cave. Merla and Mindy bumped shoulders on the way out, causing a mild fight. Merla clawed Mindy right across the face, and Mindy howled. The remaining six were not disturbed at all by the commotion.

“Mike, Magnus, and Marvin, it’s your turn. Let’s get up,” Mork poked each of them with a stick.

Waking the older sister triples was considerably more manageable than the middle boys. Once, Marvin lost an eye when Magnus woke up in a rage. Having learned from this, Mork carefully poked each of his siblings in the face with the sharp end of a stick. Not willing to get within, losing an eye distance while waking them.

“We’re getting up!” Magnus yelled as he rolled over the other two.

Eventually, the brothers followed their sister’s steps and climbed out of the cave. At the bottom of the sleeping pit was the youngest triplet set. Mork wondered how they were able to sleep at the back of the cave with the weight of all their siblings on top of them. Not to mention the smell. It got pretty rank from all the farting and burping of sleeping orcs.

A rumbling started in Mork’s stomach as the smell of rotting flesh wafted outside the cave. He walked outside and saw his father walking up the pathway with what seemed to be the carcass of a full-grown deer.

Mork’s mouth began to water. He hadn’t had deer in years. Back then, it was a juvenile deer. This one was a full-grown male deer. Complete with antlers. He could use the antlers to make tools. This deer would taste different. Mork sniffed in the air as his father approached.

“Mmmm, he smells like he’s been rotting for at least two days,” Mother said.

“I think we’ll also have plenty for everyone to eat.” Father threw the carcass down on the ground, and the family went feral.

The sounds of teeth on bone, tearing, and gnawing were all Mork could hear. The sounds and smells even roused the babies still nestled in the cave. They crawled out screaming and crying for their turn on the deer. The only one who made room for them was Mother.

One of the babies got too close to Magnus, and he snapped at him. Mother bonked Magnus on the head so fast his face smashed onto the ground, and he chipped a tooth. Magnus growled to himself but went back to eating. If you don’t eat fast, you don’t get anything.

Mork took another giant bite near the rear flank of the deer, and something sweet oozed inside his mouth. It was a familiar and welcome flavor.

“Mmmm, I got a maggot,” Mork bragged.

“Ugh, I never find the maggots,” cried Merla.

“Yum! I got one, too,” said Marvis.

Merla grabbed Marvis by the face and used both hands to pry open Marvis’s mouth. She spotted the fat maggot in between her teeth. Merla quickly snagged the maggot free and popped it in her own mouth as fast as she could. She chomped down, and the juices filled the air.

“No fair!” Marvis screamed, but it was no use. There were no rules at breakfast.

2

Off To School

After there was nothing left of the deer besides bone fragments and quite a nice set of antlers, Mork gathered up his things for school. He walked down to the creek and splashed himself with as much mud as he could, making sure to cake his face, arms, and legs in it. The more mud, the better.

Mork looked into the clear blue water of the stream and saw his reflection. The mud accented his handsome features and gave him a smoky eye. The mud was evenly distributed and made his cheekbones pop. He could have been a model on the cover of a fashion magazine.

It was Mork’s worst nightmare.

Frustrated, he scraped the mud off one side of his face. Another glance in the water would reveal that he made it slightly better, but his smooth skin shone through. No amount of mud could make him ugly.

“It is what it is,” Mork said. He continued down the pathway to school.

Mork crossed the river on an overturned tree, careful not to let the water wash his skin in any way. An average orc would cross the river without worrying about such silly things. Mork, on the other hand, had to be more careful. If the river washed away his handy work, everyone would see just how beautiful he truly was. It would be so mortifying.

A hundred feet down the pathway, Mork recognized the silhouette of one of his classmates, Terry. He sped his pace and caught up with Terry, walking beside him.

“Good morning, Mork,” Terry said. “You smell rotten today.”

“Thank you so much. Father was able to find a deer this morning. We think he might have been dead for two whole days,” Mork emphasized and lifted two of his fingers.

“Oh, you’re so lucky. I had to eat fish again today. They were, umm,” Terry looked around before he finished, “fresh.”

Mork scrunched up his nose. He could feel his stomach turn a little at the idea of consuming something fresh. The pity he felt for his friend was palpable.

“I am so sorry,” Mork said.

Terry shrugged. He was used to fresh flesh at this point. It was never his preference, though. One time, Terry suggested to his father that they catch the fish and simply leave it out to rot for a few days to enhance the flavor. It wasn’t in an orc’s purview to plan, and his father got angry at the suggestion. Terry’s father suggested that if his food findings weren’t up to standards, he could scavenge for himself.

“Your father must be a great scavenger,” Terry said.

“He does alright, but he did exceptionally well today,” Mork said. “Where are Berry and Gerry?”

“They ran ahead today and left me,” Terry shrugged.

Terry was the black sheep of his triplet group. Gerry and Berry were nearly inseparable. They often didn’t give an extra thought to Terry.

Although Terry was smaller, Terry was still a very ugly orc. He had a split nose, several oozing wounds, and hairy warts galore. Somehow, Terry was still an outcast. This made no sense to Mork, but he was glad to have a friend who wasn’t bothered by his handsomeness.

“I’m sorry they ditched you like that,” Mork said. “Not cool.”

“Meh, I prefer it. Those two get on my nerves,” Terry chuckled.

The school was less of a building and more of an open-air mud pit with rocks and stumps the students used as chairs. They had no blackboard, desks, or technology of any sort.

School was more of a formality for young orcs to learn about weapon forging, scavenging, and cave digging. They did offer several extracurriculars like basket weaving, tool making, and elvish studies.

“Do we know anyone who has taken elvish studies?” Mork asked Terry.

“No,” Terry answered. “Do they actually offer that as a class?”

“According to this flier, they do,” Mork held up a class syllabus that he took off a stump near the entrance to the school.

A squeak filled the air, and the students suddenly went silent. All eyes shot to the skies, searching for the source. Another squawk revealed the source: a blackbird fluttered to the tops of one of the trees. In a mad dash, twenty or so juvenile orcs leaped for the tree. They gnawed and scratched at each other, trying to be the first to climb up the tree.

Being the smartest of the bunch, Terry ran to a different nearby tree. Because there was no bird in it, no other orcs were competing to scale the tree. Terry was able to climb it in no time at all.

Seeing the commotion at the bottom of his perch, the bird took flight before any of the orcs could reach the top. As it flew away it gave a celebratory squawk. In a display of defiance, the bird landed on a nearby tree and settled to watch the commotion of the orcs falling over each other, trying to get down and climb up the new tree.

Terry reached out swiftly and grabbed the bird by its neck. He quickly started sucking out the blood.

Mork watched in awe and with a mild twinge of jealousy as his brilliant friend drank his reward.

“You’re dead as soon as you reach the bottom!” one of the jealous orcs screamed at Terry.

3

The Panic Attack

The teacher rang the bell, and the children shuffled into the schoolhouse circle. Mork grabbed a stump near the back.

Most of the children had abandoned their post underneath Terry at the tree. Three or four remained. Terry sat at the top of his tree picking feathers from his teeth.

“Good morning, class,” said the teacher. “We seem to be missing about five or six of you.”

“They’re stalking Terry at the tree,” Berry pointed to it.

The teacher looked at the orcs at the bottom and then up the tree at Terry. The teacher shrugged and went back to the lesson.

“Don’t forget that this weekend is our annual orc dance. As is tradition, you will pair up and dance the Lok’amon. We will also be hosting a feast of deer, wild boar, and ox carcasses. Provided Mr. Nargrand doesn’t eat it all first,” said the teacher, who shot a look at Mr. Nargrand.

Mr. Nargrand looked away quickly and shrugged his shoulders.

Most of the orc children started drooling over the thought of such a grand feast. They started looking at each other to see who they might like to ask.

Mork, on the other hand, sunk down in his seat. Mork’s heart began to race erratically, a rapid drumbeat echoing in his chest. The air around him felt thick, making it difficult to breathe. His palms were clammy, and a cold sweat broke across his forehead. An invisible weight settled on his chest, making every breath a struggle.

Mork’s thoughts spiraled into a chaotic whirlwind, a tempest of worries and fears that seemed to have no escape. It was like a storm was brewing inside him, dark clouds obscuring his thoughts. Mork’s mind played out worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

What if no one asked him?

What if he asked someone, and they said no?

What if someone made fun of him?

The schoolhouse circle, once familiar, now felt alien and suffocating. Mork’s senses heightened to an overwhelming degree. Every sound became magnified, and every shadow seemed to dance menacingly. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable.

Mork’s hands trembled uncontrollably, and a knot tightened in his stomach. His muscles tensed, ready to flee from an invisible threat that lurked in the corners of his mind. The racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, and shortness of breath all intensified, creating a perfect storm within him.

Mork’s vision blurred, and he struggled to focus on the teacher. Rationality seemed to slip away, replaced by a fear that tightened its grip on him. At that moment, Mork felt isolated, as if he were trapped in his mind with no way out.

As the waves of fear and panic crashed over him, Mork yearned for a moment of peace, a break from the relentless assault on his senses. Yet, the panic persisted, a relentless force that seemed to have taken control. Beads of sweat covered his entire face as he now labored to breathe.

“Are you ok?” Terry asked him.

Mork was unable to answer.

Terry was very patient with Mork. Terry grabbed Mork’s hand and led him to a private, quiet section of the schoolhouse that was heavily wooded.

4

Yellow As The Sun

“You’re having a panic attack,” Terry said calmly and evenly. “This is very normal, and there’s nothing to fear. I’m here for you. I want you to focus on nothing but your breathing.”

Mork started to hear Terry.

Terry told him that he should breathe in for a count of three and breathe out for a count of five.

Mork couldn’t physically do it at first, but the more he tried, the closer he got.

As Mork worked on breathing, Terry found a smooth rock nearby and brought it over to Mork. “Here, put this in your hand and rub your fingers over it. Feel how smooth and cold it is. Focus on your breathing, but let your senses be distracted by how calm, cold, and smooth this rock is,” Terry handed Mork the rock.

Mork immediately noticed how cold and smooth the rock was. His thumb started petting the rock, and he noticed his breathing became more manageable. He was almost able to speak.

“Tha..” Mork tried to say.

“Shhhh, focus on your breathing. You don’t need to say anything right now. Feel the rock,” said Terry, smiling at his friend.

A few more minutes passed by, and Mork came back full circle. He felt mostly normal. A little bit of a headache started to pound near the back of his eyeballs.

“Thank you,” Mork said. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

“That was a panic attack,” Terry said. “I get them sometimes. My brothers are mean to me. It makes me sad and angry that I am not bonded to Gerry or Berry like they’re bonded to each other. I get anxious that they’re always lurking around the corner, ready to shove me into the dirt or worse.”

“That’s awful,” Mork said.

“When you start to feel that way inside, try your best to grab hold of a rock, a stick, something from the ground with a smooth texture you can focus on. It’s called grounding. Thinking about that will allow you to focus on your breaths,” Terry explained.

“I thought I was going to die,” Mork said.

“That is how it feels sometimes,” Terry said, shaking his head.