"Drinking here?"
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Outside the tavern in the temporary village, a sprawling mass of bare-chested orcs lay everywhere. They used equally dead-drunk goblins as pillows and the opposite sex as blankets, piled outside the tavern as though they had merged into a green ocean.
The orcs were piled from the doorway all the way to the tavern's makeshift bar. Halahar looked around for ages but still couldn't find anywhere to set foot.
"No, I'm just here to get two cups."
Though after tonight, it would be a new year, and the number on the Lost Era calendar would become the neat, symmetrical [1001].
For orcs, however, every day seemed much the same.
Brains no bigger than soybeans could not support them in remembering specific years, months, and days. Nor could they understand what significance there was in adding a [1] to the end of a number, so it never developed into any sort of holiday.
That did not mean they did not celebrate.
Whenever they had plundered a great deal of food, or events such as the changing of chieftains occurred, they would gather around bonfires to wrestle and celebrate.
Thus, their holidays were fluid and random. Perhaps one would come along every couple of days, or perhaps they would spend three to five years in a muddle.
For more intelligent civilizations, such as halflings, New Year meant reunion—a day for everyone to gather together and taste [Wild Boar Under the Covers]—that is, pork stew.
For Dragon Gold City, New Year was a day to dispel filth, so the bathhouses throughout the city would be especially bustling.
The Tyron Empire's New Year meant that the Empire had endured for another year, and that alone was worth celebrating.
As for Tang Qi—
It was merely an excuse to drink.