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((Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and includes elements of violence, homosexuality, drinking and smoking. If you do not like these things, it's not my fault. If you end up liking these things after reading, then by all means, you're welcome.))

Memories of a fine autumn harvest filled the air of the quaint mountain valley pub. The last of the pumpkin harvest simmered in the cast iron pot, filling the air with a rich smokiness that covered the scents of stale ale. While normally the early onset of winter would bring in the local farmers looking to escape the humdrum of the routine village tavern, the storm outside kept everyone indoors, leaving the tavern absent of the sounds of bad stories and even worse awkwardly sung crude ballads. The rooms upstairs likewise remain empty, unclaimed. Aside from the soup, the only sign of life inside the empty wooden halls echoes through the room, the clanging of metal on metal.

Behind the stable, the sounds of metal grow loudest, followed by the sharp hiss of hot metal upon cold, icy water. Steam billows about, filling the air with the tinge of soot, metal and dross, and beneath that the scent of sweat. As the air clears, the leathery green skin of an orc, likely from the southern tribes by his look. He works naked save for an apron and a pair of loose breeches, the cold winter ice melting around the heat of his forge. There, he lifts up the freshly tempered blade, it's black-blue metal glistening slightly in the nearby fires.

The steam parted, showing his dark green skin, thick, heavy muscles and prominent gut. Almost unique to non-local orcs, coarse blue hair covered his arms and legs, and he sported a neatly cared for mohawk of sorts. A matching beard wrapped around his mouth, framing the two tusks, one of which capped with a steel tip. The orc turned the blade, and with each movement, beads of sweat fell to the ground. With a nod, the thick male turned over to the doorway.

That was when he saw the guest. The figure before him rose only to half his height, but matched his width in thickness. The stocky man held a finely crafted axe in a single gloved hand, his stocky fingers wrapped around its haft with an intent and purpose familiar to the orc. Their eyes met, both steely blue gazes that glinted with tension. One pair underneath in a look of momentary surprise, the other glaring underneath bushy crimson brows. With the thick accent of the Highlands to the northwest, the newcomer spoke.

"M'canni, The rumor be true. Ye've found th' secrets of the Woading stone. If ye're as smart as ye must, then ah must ask ye ta share ye craft."

The orc remembered the long fifteen year quest it took in order to speak to the spirits of the Woading stone. He lost many friends and families protecting the shaman as she spoke to the spirits, who originally demanded their blood as payment for the craft. Only after a decade of respect and vows did the spirits relent, showing them how to properly heat the rock and mix it with metal, with results similar to the unfinished blade in his hand. He took a long sigh and turned fully to his visitor.

"You could not understand. The knowledge is not one you can harness. Your quest is foolish and at an end."

The sound of silence filled the air between them. The orc could see the careful braiding of the other's ginger hair and beard, as well as the line of frost that had not yet melted. the brown leather armor definitely displayed the braiding common to highland dress. This traveller came far for this lesson, but the secrets of the forge could not be shared. Dwarves like the one before him long since gave up following the spirits for subjugation of elemental forces. The spirits would not listen to those of his ilk, and attempting to speak of such would only surmount as heresy to the dwarven clans.

With a growl, the dwarf narrowed his eyes. His thick, muscled chest rose from a breath while his gloved hand tightened around the hilt of his axe. Perhaps in distant lands, the stout figure would be head of his own tavern, boisterous with laughter that would fill the stone and bronze halls of his homeland. the bonfires within would burn with surprising colors not found elsewhere, and bombastic music would play well into the night. Yet here, and now, not a single beat sounded save for the pounding of the two hearts.

"Perhaps, I can offer a ro-"

The dwarf flung his axe with deft accuracy at the orc, brazenly charging ahead with battle in his eyes. Only by quick reflex did the orc knock away the finely wrought throwing axe, causing the newly forged blade to break, it's tip flinging off into the cold winter snow. Before he could counter further, the dwarf had leaped into the air, pulling a dagger from his belt. Only by stumbling backwards did the orc evade the sharp cut of the weapon, only his apron strap slicing neatly apart.

Continuing his backwards step, the orc let the apron fall pushing it forward and over the form of the landing dwarf, giving him precious time to back over the low stone wall separating the main forge from the yard and wilderness beyond. His booted foot sank into the snowbank there as the flakes fell around him. The light around him dim from late afternoon, the orc watched the shadow of the dwarf by the forgelight, standing atop the smaller wall.

The dwarf once agains charged the orc, but this time, the orc stood ready, no longer encumbered by the apron left behind. Axe and dagger met broken blade and hammer as the two traded strikes. The dwarf fought with surprising integrity and speed, catching the orc off guard with a nick along the arm. He did not go undamaged himself, the orc slamming the hammer against the dwarf's chest and shoving him back into the white flakes.

Light dots of red spattered the icy cold as the two clashed, the light outside slowly giving way to night's dismal dark. It did not take long before the two could barely see each other's forms, mere shadows in the distant glimmer of The Tusk and Dross Inn's light. The orc held a slight advantage, though, as his eyes naturally adjusted to the light within just a few moments. Both breathing heavily, the dwarf swung his axe wide, the orc disarming him with his own weapon, but losing the sword in the process.

The two stared at each other in the darkness, armed with only knives. the wind gusted, sending a flurry of snow to cover the area, blinding the two. They watched each other, waiting for their foe to finally make a move.

"Ah s'pose ah cannae ask ye ta wait until t'morrow ta go on.. Ah'll be buried alive at this rate."

The orc stood still for just a moment, perplexed by the odd request. The man before him was asking for a reprieve.. after attacking him, especially after he started gaining the upper hand. Certainly if they fought in the snow the little man would quickly become mired in the ice and unable to defend himself properly. The fight was good. Unlike most of his dwarven opponents, he held his own with skill. The orc was not an unlearned brute to the art of fighting, having travelled much before settling down here. To hear such a request from what he could only assumed as a seasoned warrior, baffled him. The irony of the situation struck him so odd that he could not help himself.

The orc started to laugh, in the cold and the snow of perhaps one of the worst winter storms in decades, his feet most likely frostbitten, the blood from his gash oozing out. He looked down at the short man and found himself actually considering the request. Filled with the warmth that his inn was known for, the orc smiled with his reply, but his last words held the weight of the iron in which he worked.

"How about we call this off. I'll get us some ale and food, and we will warm up. Just know this. Draw weapons again in my home, I will end your life."

The dwarf nodded in the increasingly bleak weather, the wind threatening to remove the traveller's cloak from his body by force. Tension finally broken, the orc turned towards his home, grabbing his arm to staunch the bleeding. Even as a knick, the blade could certainly have caused more damage should he have not been careful, a reminder of the earlier incident. Still the orc extended the gesture of hospitality, one that his kin cannot abide breaking easily, and no harm could come to the dwarf until at least morning.

*****

The remnant embers of the fireplace bathed the room in a soft warmth, outlining the pair of mugs and bowls resting upon the main table. Silence once again overtook the tavern, this time as the two lone residents rested blearily from ale and good food. The two had undressed further: the wail of winter wind outside kept at bay, leaving the two to relax in the heat. It didn't help that the dwarf shared with the orc a bit of his potent Shastasha leaf, helping the two to relax warmly.

Granted, the first hour between the two held tense, both afraid the other would go back on their word, but as the ale was shared and wounds mended, the tension fell away to a warm glow. It was the dwarf's idea to use the leaf, known for it's mild pain relief and relaxation properties. The two talked much after the first pipe, discussing the matters at hand. Neither traded names. If the battled resumed the following day, it would make battling the other easier, but they traded stories.

The dwarf hailed from a noble clan within the halls which he called home. The clan held the distinct honor of the best metal-weavers in the land. Those with the talent could craft the very essence of metal into useful shapes without a forge, forcing the very shape of the raw material into whatever form they wish. They could even combine base metals in a way that no master of the forge could ever hope, but they fell upon hard times. The dwarf was found for infidelity with his wife with another male, and cast out from his home.

The pain of this struck home with the orc who also was forced outcast. In his tribe, all orcs were placed into arranged marriages. While relations with those of the same kind were not taboo, he was uninterested in his betrothed, so he escaped and travelled the land, looking for a suitable home for he and his lover. His lover's life had been taken as punishment for his crime of treason, for leaving the arrangement.

As the two sat in the quiet darkness, not far from each other, the dwarf placed his thick hand upon the orc's leg. His fingers felt coarse, clearly heavily calloused from a life of diligence and hard work. In the darkened room, the orc hoped his companion could not see him blush, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of green. After a moment, the dwarf spoke with a soft voice the betrayed his hard nature.

"Well, it seems we both lost somethin' precious. I cannae ask ye for more." The dwarf sighed heavily and looked, for the first time, defeated. His expression of deep sorrow was only broken when the orc suddenly pressed his lips against the dwarf's own. The kiss was short and sweet, but clearly a gesture of kindness. The orcs lips were wet his his breath rich with ale and smoke.

"Why ask for anything more. You could always stay and learn, but it will take long." The orc's voice spoke deep and gravelly, but with a strange compassion that almost came out of nowhere. The two watched each other's reaction for just a split second, before the dwarf returned the kiss in kind, his bearded mouth pressing in deeply against the orc, moving close and pressing against the bared green flesh before him. Their sweat-covered bodies grinding in rising passion. The smith's hand moves under the dwarf's shirt, feeling at the pelt of thick, curled ginger hair and finding a single loop of metal.

With a pleasurable moan, the dwarf arched back at the orc's thick fingers toying with his pierced nipple, one of the tough visitor's weaker points exploited. Between moans, the stouter figure replied in kind, reaching down to coax out the orc thick member from his breaches, practically tearing a hole in them with his stubby hand. The meat within throbbed with pent need, the orc clearly having not pleasured himself in many days, his long shaft oozing with thick preseed.

Before he could grab too heavily a hold upon the orc's great weapon, however, the dwarf found his shirt being torn in two, ripping apart from his partner's great strength, the sweat on his hairs glistening in the remaining embers. Those hands moved down to the dwarfs breeches, pulling them with a brute insistency uncommon to the dwarven clans. the orc stood up, grabbing the now-nearly-naked dwarf into a rough kiss, his tusks twining into the dwarf's mustache.

The orc's member prodded up against the dwarf's hard cock. Though the orc was clearly larger by proportion, the dwarf's own member held thick, much like a stein, and oozed pre just as readily onto his carefully braided public hair. The orcs' tongue invaded the dwarf's mouth, grunting with savage need. The dwarf held on close as the larger figure held the smaller against him. Cradling the dwarf by his legs, the orc raised the dwarf into the air and slowly lowered his awaiting backside onto his hard member.

He did not penetrate at first, instead, using his pre to help ease his future entry. The two breathed heavily, before the dwarf just snorted and stammered quickly.

"Just pit it in me, by M'canni, ah dun wanna wait all night."

The two looked at each other, and the dwarf's scowl turned into a playful smirk. When the orc smirked in kind, however, the dwarf seemed to scoff, his complaints cut off by a sudden sharp sound of being dropped square onto the orc's awaiting rod. As the heavy dwarf sunk down onto the greenskin's member, he could feel every inch, every movement. The dwarf had heard rumors of the ferocity of orc mating practices, but never realized that there was a certain tenderness to it. The dwarf's body was pulled and moved in ways that were never uncomfortable, but allowed the orc to shove heavier and thicker than before.

Their sweaty bodies intermingled as they passionately fucked in the wee hours of the morning. The heat from their forms kept them warm as the fire finally died, leaving only the glowing embers and the scents and feel of their bodies to mark the way. The orc seemed to take forever, but each moment was new sensation unfolding with in the dwarf's backside, and his thick cock shot ropey load after load upon the wooden floor.

It took him two and a half orgasms before the orc responded in kind, suddenly shoving his thick member into the dwarf's fuzzy ass and releasing a long, thick stream of seed. The orc held tense as his orgasm wracked him, and his thick heavy grasp held as strong as steel. Afterwards, the heavy orc collapsed atop the smaller man with heavy breathing that soon turned to snoring. The dwarf rolled his eyes, but found himself unable to budge, pinned between the orc and the hard floor with the third hard-on of the night. Worse yet, he was unable to move his arms due to his position.

As his eyes began to lid, the dwarf looked down at the large beast of a man with a strange sense of fondness. Just earlier this evening, he was willing to to do anything to get the secrets needed to return home, but that seemed less important. His eyes closed a bit and he thought of the large orc and wondered if perhaps, in the morning, they could at least trade names. With a warm smile, the dwarf soon fell asleep in kind, listening to the sound of the storm outside dying down and the gentle snoring of his new friend.