Ogrepothecary

                Into the square rattled the wagon, mismatched wheels and various boards from multiple different sources combined to form a method of transportation that held together, albeit barely, and could be heard clattering for over a mile on a clear day. Bouncing along the rough terrain it went, until finally shuddering to a stop a ways past the town gate. Faded canvas rested against the side of the wagon displayed half-torn letters that were nearly illegible, not that it mattered.

                The ogres milling about couldn’t read it in the first place.

                From out of the wagon came a huge shape, big enough to draw notice. Ogre society ran on a hierarchy of strength, and the size of what emerged was enough to disrupt the local power dynamic substantially. He was a mountain of an ogre, the normally gray skin fleck with streaks of glowing green, and thick growths of natural armor along his torso, arms, back, and skull. Raising a single fist, the hulking specimen of ogrekind slammed it down upon his chest, producing a thud loud enough to catch every ear in proximity.

                “You will hear Bone Chewer! Bone Chewer comes with rare opportunity. Gather close, and listen to Sneaky Scamper.”

                A slight cough rose through the air, coming from behind the sheet of canvas on the wagon. Yanking a cord unseen to the audience, the sheet rolled away to reveal a small stage cluttered with various shelves, upon which rested multiple jars, all wisely lashed into place. Standing amidst them was another ogre, though not the sort that drew stares of wary respect. The gray of his skin was pale and sickly, his limbs were barely as thick as saplings, let alone full-grown trees, and he didn’t even come up to Bone Chewers’ shoulder, still placing him a head shorter than any other ogre present. Only his eyes were of note, not that the other ogres paid the feature such attention. They had no interest in curiosities such as his faintly glowing green eyes. That very attitude was why this enterprise had been founded in the first place.

                “Ahem, my name is Scampfor, derived from my old, somewhat pejorative, title. Sneaky Scamper is who I was before Bone Chewer and I wound up captured by a human wizard, turned into experiments for his various interests. A not unearned name, as I lacked the hallmark physical might of our kind, I was forced to fall upon less noble tactics for survival. Sneaking around, hit-and-run, fleeing from threats too great to tackle, it lacked the brutal honesty of upfront melee that we so favor. Yet today I am here not to tell you of the past, my dear brethren, rather I wish for us to look together toward the future.”

                 Vacant stares rose up to meet him, and Scampfor had to resist smacking his head in frustration. Thankfully, after so long on the road, Bone Chewer was ready for this reaction. “Softling wizard make Sneaky Scamper brain wrong. Sneaky Scamper know things now. What problem someone have?”

                The crowd milled about for a moment, until a surly-face ogre stepped forward. No sooner was she in view than Scampfor knew what the problem would be. Bite marks were visible on her shoulder, she’d been tangling with a sizzleslither and come out the worse for it. The yellow hue around the wound and it’s nearby vein meant she must be in substantial pain, sizzleslithers were named for how their venom felt coursing through a body.

                “Swung club too hard smashing dinner and cracked roof. Leaks now. You fix?”

                “I do have some specially formulated clay that can seal the breaks, but are you sure there isn’t something else you might like tended to? Something more painful, and that could cause long-term injury.” Scampfor stared unabashedly at the wound, subtlety was a foreign concept among orges.

                The orge’s eyes narrowed. “You no cut off arm. Rock Tosser strong, Rock tosser beat sizzle.”

                “I have no intention-”

                The slam of Bone Chewer’s hands hitting the ground interrupted Scampfor, as well as knocked a few nearby ogres over in shock. “No need cut off arm! Sneaky Scamper have plant that fix.”

                Rock Tosser scoffed. “Plant no help hurt. Plant food for food.”

                On this point, Bone Chewer would not yield. “Plant will help. Sneaky Scamper help Bone Chewer when we escaped wizard lab. Bone Chewer hurt much, plants makes better. Bone Chewer travel with Sneak Scamper, Bone Chewer see plants help other ogres.”

                “Ogres must be weak if helped by plant,” Rock Tosser remarked. Scampfor’s guess was that she was actually scared, but that wasn’t exactly a thing that was permissible in the world of ogres, so lashing out was all she had.

                Unfortunately, it only served to bring Bone Chewer closer to Rock Tosser, a very hard edge entering his voice. “You call Bone Chewer weak?”

                Cowardice was not acceptable to ogres, yet oddly, they had little trouble with surrender. Acknowledging another’s strength was the basis of their society, so there was no shame in admitting an ogre held more might, it just positioned the weaker ogre below the stronger in all social dealings. Scampfor suspected that without this facet, ogres would live in a state of non-stop brawling.

                “You no weak. But no lose arm. Rock Tosser technique is two-hand.”

                Begrudgingly, Rock Tosser ambled forward. As she moved, Scampfor was already at work, pulling out the premade poultice he had ready in case of snake-bites. In this region, sizzleslithers were quite common, they’d had to treat bites in the last two towns they’d rolled through. There were also premade bandages for claw-wounds from a dirt-burster and a tonic that would cure the deafness cause by trixken poisoning. By the time Rock Tosser arrived, Scampfor was already prepared.

                With practiced dexterity the bordered on magic to his kin, Scampfor worked the poultice over the wound before covering it with a cloth, an sealing it all with a special glue of his own creation. It would hold the bandage in place for two weeks no matter what Rock Tosser put it through. Ogres did not have much concept of resting.

                Holding his breath, Scampfor stepped away, waiting to see how the town would react. The last few had gone well, enough to give him a small kernel of optimism. Maybe, after all these years, they were making progress, putting a dent in the collective consciousness. If word would spread, if they would only listen, Scampfor could do so much for his people.

                Sadly, his greatest opposition to that goal were the same ogres he wished so dearly to help.

                Narrowing her eyes, Rock Tosser gave the bandage a sniff. “This smell like softling work. You use softling ways on ogres?”

                That caused a rumble in the crowd, one Scampfor was already keenly familiar with. Optimism withed away as Scampfor quickly resecured the supplies he’d used for the poultice. Based on experience, when the shows went bad, they went bad fast.

                “Ogre no need softling tricks. Ogres are ogres!” Rock Tosser let out a roar, one fast echoed by the crowd. While she was in mid-roar, Bone Chewer struck, lifting up the smaller ogre and hurling her directly into the crowd, turning their would-be customer into a makeshift projectile.

                “Hold on Sneak Scamper. Bone Chewer get us away.” Grabbing hold of the wagon, Bone Chewer’s feet dug deep into the worn stone of the road, shoving them off with a fearsome start. In seconds, the wagon was rolling past the town gate once more, a small mob already forming to their rear.

                Wistfully, Scampfor looked back over his shoulder at the town before pulling the canvas flap closed once more.

                They really needed to fine-tune that sales pitch.