4. Drakar

One foot in front of the other, I stride onto the green, manicured lawns of the golf club. The peace, the gentle breeze, and the birdsong are a sharp contrast to the boardroom’s tension, but they don’t relax the frown on my face.

“Fucking ridiculous,” I mutter, setting up to tee off.

Someone is trying to sabotage us, and I don’t know who the hell it is. That alone has me gripping my club so tightly that I can feel the rod start to cave under my touch. I rear back and, with a solid swing, smack the golf ball down the fairway with a grace many forget to associate with an orc like myself.

We’re always underestimated in everything we do.

Despite running a successful company as the sole CEO, one single fuck-up has sent everything into chaos, including my reputation.

“As if I’m the one who screwed up.” I continue to grumble, marching off toward where the ball landed.

“Mr. Tvojan,” a passing client greets.

I nod curtly in her direction, forcing a well-practiced smile onto my face. Never does it reach my eyes, but I don’t care to try any harder than this.

As I continue my march down the fairway, a sudden movement catches my eye. A woman, dressed in a white skirt and blouse, is moving briskly and with purpose amidst the leisurely pace of the club. She looks flustered, her auburn hair falling out of its neat bun as she scans the area around her.

The woman”s movements are hurried and deliberate as if she has somewhere important to be. Her white skirt flutters around her knees, revealing a pair of sensible black pumps that seem out of place on the manicured greens of the golf course. Her blouse is crisp and pressed, the top buttons undone to reveal a hint of cleavage.

Despite her obvious distress, there”s an air of grace and poise about her that makes her stand out among the other golfers. Her auburn hair is swept back into a neat bun, but tendrils have escaped and frame her face in soft curls. Her eyes are a striking green, and they dart around the course as if searching for something, or someone.

As I watch her, I can”t help but be drawn in by her beauty. There”s a certain vulnerability about her that makes me want to protect her, even though I don”t know who she is or what”s causing her distress.

When she suddenly disappears from sight behind a group of golfers, I feel a pang of disappointment. I find myself craning my neck to catch another glimpse of her – and there she is. She tosses another glance over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze.

I notice a man trailing behind her. He”s dressed in all black, and he moves with a purposeful stride that makes my hackles rise.

A tightness forms in my gut as I watch him. Something about his demeanor sets off alarm bells in my head. He doesn”t seem like the type of person who would be at a golf club for leisure.

As he draws closer to the woman, I can see that she”s become aware of his presence as well. Her movements become more frantic, and she quickens her pace.

But the man doesn”t falter. He continues to follow her, closing the distance between them with each step.

I clench my fists, every instinct telling me to intervene. But something holds me back. I”m not sure if it”s the fear of making a scene or the knowledge that I don”t know the whole story.

She could be a thief, for all I know, and he could be club security. Though I don’t know why security would dress as ridiculously as that.

As time passes by, I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from the woman as she disappears and reappears. I watch as she moves about the golf course, her petite frame easy to spot even from a distance.

Every once in a while, I catch sight of the man following her. He”s always a few paces behind, never close enough to make it obvious, but close enough that I can see him.

My frown deepens as I watch the scene unfold from afar. A protective instinct I didn”t know I had clashes with the need for decorum. I”m not sure if it”s my place to intervene, but I can”t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

As the afternoon wears on, I find myself growing more and more tense. Every time the woman disappears, I hold my breath, waiting for her to reappear. And every time the man in black comes into view, my hackles rise.

I tell myself that it”s none of my business and that I should just focus on my game. But I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something particular about her…

While I”m walking off the green, another golfer makes a comment that sends a chill down my spine. ”I”ve never seen an orc play golf before,” he says, his tone laced with skepticism. ”I hope you don’t take a divot out of the green and ruin our game.”

I grit my teeth, trying to keep my anger in check. I know that they”re not being outright racist, but their words still sting. It”s a subtle jab, but one that”s all too familiar.

A retort rises in my throat like bile, but I swallow it down, forcing a tight smile on my face instead. I can feel the injustice of their words simmering in my chest, threatening to boil over.

I take a deep breath, trying to push down the anger that”s building inside me. I know that lashing out won”t do any good. It will only confirm their biases and give them more ammunition to use against me.

I take one last deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. I step up to the tee, my grip on the golf club steady and sure. As I swing, I feel a surge of power coursing through me, the strength of my ancestors fueling my every move.

I watch as the ball sails through the air, landing on the green with a satisfying thud.

Despite my excellent play on the golf course, my mood continues to sour. The humans mutter amongst themselves, humbled by my skills yet refusing to give me credit

”I can”t believe an orc can play golf like that,” one of them says, shaking his head in disbelief.

”I know, right? You”d think they”d be too busy smashing things with their clubs,” another one replies, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Do they even understand that they”re simply repeating the stereotypes that have been perpetuated for centuries? I doubt they’ve ever truly known an orc for themselves.

”Maybe we should have him play with us next time,” a third one chimes in, a note of admiration in his voice.

”Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen,” the first one scoffs, rolling his eyes.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I know that I can”t let their words get to me. I have to keep pushing forward, to keep fighting for what”s right.

”Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say, interrupting their conversation. ”I hope you enjoyed the game. It was a pleasure sharing the green with you.”

They murmur their goodbyes, their eyes still wide with surprise. And as I walk away, I can”t help but feel a sense of sadness. Despite my skills, despite my success, I”ll always be seen as an orc first and foremost.

As I walk off the green, I can”t help but feel the weight of the battle I face, not just for my company but for recognition beyond the orcish stereotype. I”ve worked hard to build a successful business and to prove that I”m more than just a brute with a club. But it seems that no matter how many deals I close, no matter how many accolades I receive, I”ll always be seen as an orc first and a businessman second.

“As if it can only be one or the other,” I mutter bitterly to myself.

It”s a constant uphill battle, one that leaves me weary and frustrated. But I refuse to give up. I know that I have to keep pushing forward, to keep breaking down barriers and challenging assumptions.

As I make my way back to the clubhouse, I can”t shake the feeling that the golf club”s tranquility is a farce. Beneath the surface, there are undercurrents of superiority from both humans and orcs alike, a persistent thorn in my side that I can”t seem to escape.

I know that I”m not the only one who feels this way. Many of my fellow orcs have faced similar prejudices, both in the business world and in their personal lives. And while some humans are genuinely open-minded and accepting, others hold onto their biases with a stubbornness that”s hard to break.

Despite the anger boiling beneath the surface of my skin, I maintain my composure, wearing a mask of indifference as I calculate my next move. I know that I can”t let my emotions get the best of me, not in this world where the weight of my position and the burden of my face carry so much weight.

And sometimes, I have to wonder – what should I do to secure my success? To truly be seen as an equal in this world?