The old Arak orc stood in his home in the bustling Regalian Polorc, the trade of goods usually partake during this time, but the winds had been unfavorable, the streets were mostly quiet. That was if you ignore the Arak children playing with eachother and the Nothera in the back alley beating some poor Helocanc mercilessly. Nonetheless, it was a quiet day… unusually quiet for the old Arak. For once in forty-six years of repeatedly doing the same thing over and over again without complaint, he grew relaxed. During the old man’s time, there were always strong competitors in his field, that being blacksmithing. Other Arak companies are trying to win the Kontōn Polorc’s cash cow, or Regalian smiths trying to beat him at his own game in Daendroc. When Enki started his business, he had one main competitor, but he got along with that man well, Vhaal. The Arak admired Vhaal for the longest time, he didn’t know how this seemingly mundane Altalar were able to impress the Ailor to a point of dominating their smithing scene long before he moved to the Holy City. Though, as the orc grew, he saw less and less of Vhaal until it had been two months since he'd seen the Altalar. Word on the street had it that the man became a priest, whether or not that was true the Arak didn’t know, but the last time he saw the elf was in a temple, so who knew? As the orc explored his house, he noticed a rolled up papyrus scroll hanging out of his bookshelf. The Arak went to correct it, but as he did so his curiosity peaked him, he cracked it open only to see the big bold letters ‘So You want to Slander?’. Well that certainly brought back memories, Markus Ironfist, now Stone-Eater, was one of the Orc’s top contenders in the field. The Orc grew angry with him, blaming the dwarf for all of his problems when in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the case. One thing Enki was certain about though was that they did slander him, very much so. Not to mention, two dwarves made threats on his life that were ultimately never carried out. Ah well, who’d try a mighty orc’s life? No one, that’s why he always won. But did he always win? He seemed to be toting around that little catch-phrase quite a bit, but he certainly didn’t feel like much of a winner. Sure, he’d made his way back in the Guthrain court, and he even made up with the nobles that hated him. But did any of that truly matter? He made nothing in terms of progress on mines or factories, he had no one to compete with. The orc is bored, very much so, no challengers face him and for good reason, he did win, but not in the way he wanted. Back in the Polorcs, competing business drove his production and quality, making him a better blacksmith in the process, but now? Now, he stood top dog, as good as good gets, and nothing forced him to change. Customers poured in daily, he made well over a thousand regals in two hours on some really good days. There was… nothing. The orc moved to slide the papyrus scroll back into its holder, a new determination set in his eyes. He will set up those mines, he will better himself, he will make Vakgar’s Torch the single handedly best blacksmithing company that Corontium had ever seen. Idleness would not conquer over the old orc, because even in his age he was determined not to grow useless. He will make his race proud, even if that meant he wouldn’t be as comfortable as he sat right now. Progress is not fueled by idle thumb twiddling, instead it was fueled by determination.
