Wandering Orc Name Generator

The story

By the time Barga locked his store, several people had been told that his first night away would be beyond the old ridge. He had not intended to make an announcement. Someone asked whether he was taking a journey, and he said yes with such satisfaction that someone else came to ask. At forty, he had learned to run a store, mend an awning, and judge the moment a customer would ask for credit. He had never needed to learn how to arrive somewhere without already being known. The booked ridge hostel seemed a useful place to begin.

He had packed against events that might occur, events he hoped would occur, and events that he would have considered unlikely in anybody else's case. There was a heavy brass doorstop because strange rooms might have unreliable doors. There was a ledger weight because papers might blow away. There was a second cup because he disliked asking for things. When a neighbor offered to take the case as far as the lane, he said he had chosen its contents and would carry them himself. The saying pleased him. The carrying was less satisfactory.

One obligation lay on top, wrapped in his store's paper. He had borrowed Rella's folding measure for the awning work. Its end joint had been loose when she lent it. Before packing, he had fitted the sound little brass support he had bought for a shelf he owned, leaving that shelf waiting while the borrowed tool became firmer. He meant to return the measure at her gate on his way out. Then a customer called through the shutter about lamp oil, Barga answered, and the wrapped tool went into the case instead. He remembered it after the first long slope and decided that returning immediately would make a poor beginning.

The lower fork was easier on his arm. He had heard that one of the paths reached the ridge by a gradual approach, and the case made this seem likely to be the correct one. He followed it while shifting the handle between hands. The lane curved around long orchard walls and the old drying grounds, places his working routes had never required him to approach from outside. At a rise he looked back, saw roofs he did not recognize from that angle, and felt the pleasure of having gone somewhere. He did not compare the roofs carefully with the roofs behind his store.

Dusk brought him to a gate beside a newly painted inn sign. The sign had once advertised a cooper's yard; now it said Far Gate Rooms in ambitious red letters. Barga had heard that the ridge settlement was changing. Apparently it was changing a great deal. The prepaid hostel was nowhere immediately visible, and the case had begun to feel as though it contained a second, less willing traveler. He decided he had earned a room here instead of walking around in the dark to find the booked one. Losing the hostel payment was unfortunate, but the room before him had a bench on which he could put the case.

The innkeeper was called Nella. She named the price, showed him the small room, and said breakfast was extra. They agreed the room charge without a story about why he deserved a traveler's discount. When she asked whether he was going toward the ridge in the morning, Barga said yes. He meant farther along the country beyond it. She meant the climb that he had not yet made. Neither asked the other to explain. At supper, he ordered the lentil broth and told himself that even familiar ingredients tasted different after a journey. He considered sending a postcard immediately, but thought the message would look more substantial after a night's sleep.

The fountain outside his window had a stone fish with its tail set crookedly. He had seen a crooked fish behind his own store, though from there it was mostly a tail above a wall. Local builders must have favored the pattern. He took out a card, wrote his home address, then added that the first evening had taken him farther than he expected. This was true in one sense: the lower loop had been a long walk. Under it he began a sentence about the country beyond the ridge. He left the sentence unfinished because he could not decide whether the broth deserved its own line.

In the morning Nella saw the paper around the folding measure. ‘Barga's store,’ she said. ‘Good thick wrapping. I get mine there.’ Barga felt pleased that his modest shop's reputation had traveled. Before he could say so, the baker arrived through the side door with a basket on his hip. It was Henn, who delivered to Barga twice a week and complained about the same broken paving stone every time. Henn looked at the case, then at Barga's cup. ‘You've gone early round for breakfast,’ he said. ‘Rella was asking if you'd left her measure with me.’

Barga took his postcard outside. The inn stood on Cooper's Lane. His own address, written firmly on the card, lay two turns from its other end. From the fountain he could now see the upper corner of his store awning, a corner he had once painted while standing on Rella's ladder. The new sign, the orchard loop, and his aching arm had persuaded him to provide the missing distance himself. Nella showed him the ridge path from the gate. It climbed in a different direction. She did not laugh, which left Barga with the awkward job of deciding how much laughter the situation deserved.

For a moment he considered asking her to post the card from somewhere farther away. He could preserve most of the impressive sentence by making the postmark do the traveling. Nella asked whether he wanted breakfast. Barga crossed out the sentence about the country beyond the ridge instead. He paid for the room and the breakfast he had actually used. The ridge hostel's accepted night had passed empty, and its booking terms did not supply a refund for taking the wrong lane. He had paid for two beds and slept in one. Calling the second payment a valuable lesson did not put either sum back into his purse.

He carried the case to his own store before setting out again. Nobody had to take it for him. Inside he removed the doorstop, one cup, and the ledger weight. He put his three choices back where he remained responsible for them. The other things stayed, including a clean shirt that was already more creased than yesterday's. Then he took the wrapped folding measure to Rella. She checked the strengthened end joint against its original loose movement. ‘That's better,’ she said. ‘I'd have liked it yesterday.’ Both statements were fair. He gave her the measure, with its new brass support, and did not ask for the shelf fitting back.

At Far Gate he asked Nella which path actually climbed to the hostel. He did not pretend he was checking directions for another traveler. She pointed to the upper lane and named a visible red shed before its first turn. Barga carried the remaining case through the gate, passed the shed, and climbed. Behind him the familiar roofs sank out of sight for a reason he could now describe. He stopped twice, once because his arm hurt and once because he wanted to look. At the ridge settlement he ate a bowl of peppery soup, found the hostel, and paid for the night he would now actually use. His first posted card named the settlement correctly. Most of the message concerned the soup.