It was another day in a sea of endless days, and I waited in my den, dreading what new and exhausting torture the next summoning would bring. A long time had gone by since I was first bound to that damn figurine, and I could not tell you how much. By this time, I was beholden to Yarr’tra , chief of the Bloodletter clan of orcs, and yes, I agree it was not the most original clan name. Then again, orcs were not known for their creativity, unless you count their never-ending imagination for the art of pain and death.

As it so happened, this day, like so many others, I was summoned. Being subjected to random summoning, by the way, is no way to live. One could be in the middle of tea, and suddenly the world would slip away with another substituted in its place. One moment you are enjoying a nice tea, maybe some crumpets, and you are thrust into the filth ridden home or an orc, as my experience had been of late. Or perhaps, you were in the middle of other tasks, like hunting, having a conversation, or worse yet, the ever-so-classy summon while you were in the process of relieving oneself. The summoner typically would behave all disgusted at such a behavior, but they were the one who whisked you away to another dimension while you were merely trying to take a relaxing number two. That being said, you’ll have to take my word that after this happens for the thirtieth time or so, you don’t even flinch, you just finish your business no matter what the situation is.

While I sat, depressed, if I am being honest with myself, I began to feel the tugging on my being that I came to know and dread. It was time to see what jolly old Yarr’tra had cooked up for me today in whatever dark corner of his underground lair he was today.

***

As the view of my den left and the new view materialized, it didn’t take long for me to see that I was appearing in one of the nastier areas of the mine system, the ever-popular garbage pit. What do these disgusting creatures see in this place; it smells worse than them! One of the main features of this area was a large opening in the top of this large cavern, which had been used for the original miners to dump their unwanted refuse into. Over the years, the mine had changed hands a few times, to the best of my knowledge, until it was overrun by orcs and hobgoblins, but this area was still used for its original purpose. There was one feature in the pit that the original miners could not have foreseen, a trio of tentacled creatures known as otyughs.

There was never any clue to how these monsters arrived here, whether they were attracted to the refuse and moved in, or if they were brought here on purpose. But one thing was certain, these abominations loved to eat just about anything that was thrown into the pit. Over time, they grew in size from the constant feeding and with that came a shift in power. They now demanded food, whether it was of the traditional variety or of a more sentient nature. If they were not fed, or perhaps were just having a bad tentacle day, they would seek out a food source on their own, which was never agreeable to the orc or hobgoblin they found wandering on their own. As a result, a sort of symbiosis formed between the Bloodletters and the otyughs, and this resulted in growth for the orc tribe and the physical growth of the monsters from their steady diet.

A side effect of this process was that even though more eating was happening in the garbage pits, somehow the piles of refuse continued to grow. Having a general loss of my sense of time, I was surprised to see that when I arrived in the pits, my first though was that I must have not been here for a long time, for their growth was significant. At this point I realized somebody was speaking, and it wasn’t who I expected. “Excuse me, good sir, what did you just call me? And why would I be compelled by the power of one called Jack?”

I stared up at the man who spoke to me now, seeing that he appeared to be more human than any master I had seen in a long time. This one held the figurine, as they all did, but he did so with a smile so large that I couldn’t remember seeing any other member of their species having one quite that wide. My first instinct that this poor person must have had a run-in with a blunt object and his cranium, for no other explanation would explain his stupid grin. My second and subsequent instincts only reinforced this hypothesis. As I looked toward his protruding belly, which seemed to be torturing his pwiafwi as much as any master had tortured me, my eyes were drawn higher.

Now rats, by nature, have fur. This is common knowledge, so when I say to you that I became fixated on this man’s hair, it was an exercise in beholding a thing of beauty that transcended species bounds. It was magnificent! As he turned his head to say something to the other brute next to him, his chestnut brown locks, perhaps shoulder length, swayed as he moved, as if there was an unseen breeze that only he could feel. When he turned to face me once more, it was magical. Every strand of hair landed returned to a stationary position as if time itself were slowed down so I could savor the moment more. I didn’t know the man, but I was surely bound to his hair! For the first time I felt loyalty and protective over one of my masters, or at least his hair.

As I stood there, gazing at his curly locks of perfection, a voice in the back of my thoughts reminded me that this was too good to be true. Eventually the hammer would fall, and this master would behave much like the others, assuredly in a manner that would cause me great pain. We stared at each other for a long moment, but before my fears could become manifest, he spoke.

“There’s a good boy!” the one called Jack exclaimed and reached down and. . .

Is he petting me? I am so very confused. I just froze, not knowing what to do. There were no commands, no death mazes, no strange bedroom fetishes – just adoration. This poor sod is actually. . . happy to see me? I couldn’t even concentrate on what he was conversing about with the large man, but it was a short conversation.

Turning back to me, Jack continuing his child-like grinning, not seeming like he knew what to do with me. Eventually the grins were mixed with what I think was confusion, and after a short while the whole situation turned a wee bit awkward. Not seeming to know what else to do, Jack and the one called Gooch seemed to be packing things up to transport somewhere as I surveyed the scene before me. Well, would you look at that! It seemed that these unlikely fellows managed to kill the lord of the refuse pile, which was an overdue fate for those vile creatures and hurt my feelings not at all.

After the duo finished packing up, Jack leaned down to me and whispered, “I’ll summon you back soon! I love you, Rat Damon!” and he dismissed me back to my plane.

Sitting suddenly in my den, staring wide-eyed at the wall, I still couldn’t quite grasp my new situation. Surely this Jack was another accident waiting to happen and he hadn’t revealed the darker side of him as all these large humanoids seem to have to some extent. I’m going to have to stay realistic about this situation; nothing has changed. Some part of me wanted to be optimistic about the man with the goofy grin, but I settled back into my normal routine, not wanting to face yet another disappointment.

Oddly enough, I didn’t get summoned again until the next morning and found myself facing Jack again, who was resting on a fallen tree, snacking on some sort of meat. As soon as he saw me and he finally stopped grinning at me, he spoke.

“Greetings, Rat Damon, oh rat for the ages! Would you care for a snack?” The curly-haired man broke off a piece of what he was eating and held it out for me. “I mean, you don’t have to eat it. I just figured you may be hungry. Hmm, when do rats eat? Hey Gooch, when do rats typically eat breakfast?”

The one called Gooch looked as if Jack had woken him from a daze, shot him an irritated glare and went back to daydreaming or whatever he was doing with a shake of his head.

“I guess it’s up to you, Mr. Damon. I shall not force you to eat, though this magic allows for that. I’m just not all that comfortable forcing you to do things like a slave; that’s just not me. My grandpa always said, “You’ll always catch more bears with honey than with farts.”

Rat Damon, ey? I don’t understand the meaning of this name, but anything must be better than Runt, Sir Scrawnington, or especially Mr. Plaguey! That sadistic little bastard still gives me nightmares! And so it was that I came to accept my new name, deciding against history and the odds that maybe, just maybe this time would be different. Thus, I stood upright, walked over to the small chunk of meat, bowed deeply and began to eat. As I ate, Jack began to talk. He spoke of many things: his home, how he came to this land, never really expecting a response. Eventually, they began their hike again and set me on his should as he scouted ahead, quietly talking until quite surprisingly, we hit the four-hour limit and I was sent home once again.

Upon my return I was even more shocked than the last time. Not only had I not been abused in any of a myriad of ways, but I had not been given a single command other than the summoning itself. Oddest of all is how time flew by, I must have been enjoying it. Still nervous about my future, for who wouldn’t be with a track-record like mine, my mood at home was the best it had been in years. I couldn’t help but smile.