Private Tales 500 Days of Summer

[Scabhair]

It was summer in Taagi Baara.

Rays bore down hard on the plains of the flames, and though clear of smoke this far north, Scabhair knew that just beyond the horizon the grass burned in the glare of the sun.

It was enough to make any orc snap. Rains and the rolling green sea; that was the domain of ra Aiforn, ra Bhfearghal, ra Raghaiadh, ra Coinne. But the summer brought the hellish heat, the new children fathered during the long winter, the scarcity born of scorch.

And so the tribes hunted. In the shimmering midday, in the bliss of cool twilight, in the rare dew of the dawn. They stalked the land, orc and beast alike, spears and axes at the ready, bows strung and arrows fletched.

The humans of the Reach and the Spine knew well not to tarry too long in the plains. Whispers of oral tradition passed down from mother to child, told of in those long nights by campfires –

“When it’s summer in the Taagi Baara, that means blood.”

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

Sweat dripped down Bernard's armored body. It was entirely too hot to be wearing a exoskeleton of metal, but Bernard could not part with it, nor carry it on him in any other manner.

There was something to be said about researching where you were going before you got there, and dressing accordingly. Neither of which Bernard did. He didn't even have a map.

The roads had turned to footpaths which had in turn become... unreadable to a city boy like him. He was lost. And out of water. The sweat dripped off him into the dead grass he laid on, what precious reserves he had in his body betraying his better interests. He yawned, trying to muster the strength to stand back up and keep on walking. Instead he kicked at the grass feebly, creating a wave of movement around the tall patch he laid in.

 

[Scabhair]

Inodeirr had caught the whiff of sweat a mile or so back. They’d split off from the rest of the small hunting party without a word, their intent clear. It had taken some meandering, for the steppe was treacherous in the southern reaches, riddled with dead oxbow lakes that yawned in the dark earth, waiting to swallow an unwary orc whole.

They were stalking around the bend of one such hole when the gathamhr stopped dead in her tracks and whipped her head to the left, across the bend. Scabhair dipped down into a crouch and leaned in cheek-to-cheek with the lion, following her line of vision.

There it was – the golden grass rippling despite the total absence of wind. She grinned, rubbing Inodeirr’s withers in delight. “Farnach aros,” she murmured into her fur. The beast huffed but flopped her head down onto her forepaws, resolving to wait in the high grass while her companion finished the deed.

She stole down the dry bank, boots making nary a sound as she pressed them sole-first into the ithir dubh. From there it was a skip and a jump up the other side, and she brought down her spear quick as lightning—

where it skidded uselessly off armor.

Armor?

Scabhair pulled back, weapon at the ready as she stared at the creature curled in the grass. Her face curled into a grimace, twisting the white warpaint.

Of course.

A human.

 

[Bernard]

"Ahhh!" Came the human shriek, high pitched and ear shattering in its frequency.

Bernard coughed in a round of breathless pain, his hands moving all too slow in their dazed attempt to pull the sword out of it's scabbard at his hip. Problem was, he was half laying on it. And it really was hard to jump too when you couldn't even catch your breath.

He scrambled back from the creature poised over him, nothing graceful in the squirm, worm-like movements it required to put feet between them before he could pull to his knees. The sword rang true as it was pulled free and likewise hoisted up.

But for the briefest spell, all its user could do was wheeze in pained shock.

And that's why you always were armor.

 

[Scabhair]

She’d met enough humans in her life that the reaction didn’t surprise her.

Unfortunately, Inodeirr hadn’t.

There was a distant rumble as four heavy paws dug into the soil. Scabhair took a step back, resolved to witness yet another ear-splitting shriek.

The massive lioness landed in a puff of dust, wrapping her long tail protectively around the orc as she bared her teeth at the boy.

“Maen iamhn,” she said, stepping around the beast to face the man again. The helpless scramble and the clumsy way he waved his sword were all it took to see how desperately lost he was.

Her features remained hard as she stared him down. This was no place and time for a human wandering on his own.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in crisp, enunciated Elbian Common. “And who are you?”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard gasped to his feet as the lion came bounding in, fingers tightening on the sword that he was all too ready to use. He would have, too. But the creature stepped forward, putting the animal between her. And then she spoke.

At which he gaped at.

"What the hell are you?" He asked with no finesse. He had heard of orcs, of course. Elves too. But that hadn't meant he had seen any. Or had the imagination to picture one was actually before him. He was either stupid, or that lost. In truth, it was a bit of both.

 

[Scabhair]

Her brows went up. “You’d best rethink your tone, pup. You’re far away from home.”

Alliria, if she judged his accent right. Posh city boy.

She cast a pointed look at the sword in his hand. “And put that thing down before you hurt yourself.”

 

[Bernard]

He gaped for a moment longer.

And then he started to laugh.

And laugh.

He didn't know why, and in the back of his mind he could process that it was very likely a bad idea to be laughing in the face of a lion, but he couldn't reign himself in. There was something so ludicrous about the situation. Him. Lost. Baking inside his armor, being attacked by- by- this!

And he was just called a pup.

"Wolf," he responded, mimicking the noise of a dog. Which just brought more laughter to him.

In a wave of arrogance, or perhaps obedience, he lower the sword to clutch at his chest and try to catch his breath through the hysteria. Too long in the sun, perhaps?

 

[Scabhair]

For all the odd behaviors she’d observed in humans, this wasn’t one of them. Scabhair stared at the laughing boy for a few moments before clapping Inodeirr’s withers with a long sigh.

“Taghinbhm.” Because clearly this one was a goner.

The lion turned around first, shoulders dipping up and down like waves at sea as she stalked away. Scabhair spared another look at the sad creature, and found mercy twisting behind her ribs.

“Walk perpendicular to the path of the sun, and you will find your way home.” In a week. Or two. If he didn’t perish of thirst and hunger.

 

[Bernard]

His laugh sobered up when they turned to leave him, despite the strangeness of that to him too. Beasts that leave him alive? He had been in the sun too long, he was sure of it. Nothing here felt real.

"Ah, wait," he protested, still very little gravity to his demeanor. "Ya can't just leave me like that! You stabbed me. You owe me your water!" As if it was a game of poker, the boy protesting over a missing chip.

 

[Scabhair]

She didn't turn around. She hardly slowed down her pace.

"I owe you nothing. You wandered into our lands in the middle of the hunting season. It's a wonder you've made it this far." Inodeirr swished her tail through the tall grass with particular sass just before the pair disappeared back down the slope.

"Go home, city boy!"

And then it was all quiet again.

 

[Bernard]

He made a flabbergasted noise, calling back out, "You dented my chest plate!" It was quite the travesty.

The silence descended upon him again, his heart slugging dim protest in his ear.

He wasn't inept. He knew he needed resources or he himself would die. Maybe that's what this monster-human was waiting for, maybe it was... tradition or something to take meat that died naturally so-... so it wasn't sharing. His thought process wasn't the most rational one, both from his nature and from the heat. One truth remained certain.

He would not make it back home alive without first getting water.

Really now, he had no choice

He started stalking after her, creaking, shiny armor and all. She had a watering hole. She would eventually lead him to it.

 

[Scabhair]

They made it as far as the other end of the dried lake before Scabhair stopped with a tired groan and pivoted around her spear.

The boy was half-crouched in the grass, looking to all the world as alien as a boulder tumbled down from the Spine into the middle of the Taagi Baara. His armor jangled loud enough to be heard that far, too. She was surprised the rest of the party hadn't rushed in yet.

"Was I in any way unclear? Your city is the other way."

 

[Bernard]

Bernard frown, perplexed as she turned on him and called out across the distance he had kept between them. He stood up, finding no reason to play dumb to these accusations. He looked as he had been-- a week deprived of resources, and suffering for it.

"I just came from that way," he protested with a huff. "There is no water, there is no food." He paused for a moment, considering her appearance. The only thing that made true sense to him was the ears-- pointed. The rest didn't match the descriptions given to him of orcs in stories. Mostly because the stories were about killing them ... they weren't made out to be more than beasts.

"Are you like- a broken elf? Aren't elves suppose to share things?"

 

[Scabhair]

Her jaw tensed, silver eyes flashing . “I am narhai ri t-Urogh, Scabhair ri Eine, ri Aiforn, doirann cugu ri Manna ri Mladhmanna.” At the force in her voice the lioness turned around again, teeth bared as she dug her paws into the ground.

“I am an orc, foolish boy. Were I a different orc you would now be swinging from my spear, a fresh catch for the evening feast. Count yourself lucky that you can leave these lands alive.”

She stuck her chin towards the south, her demeanor as cold as the peaks of the Spine. “Go. Home.”

 

[Bernard]

"Okay, Okay," he said, taking a step back with open palms held between them. "I hear you. I'll go. I just... want some water. Listen, you didn't kill me with your spear. Well... you didn't try to again. So. You don't really seem like an orc. I didn't think they could talk." He held up a finger as if to pause the whole scene, realizing he shouldn't have said that.

"What I mean to say is-- if you don't let me just... gather some water. I'll die. So you mighta well have just gone and speared me before. But you didn't. So you clearly don't want to. So what's the harm? I'm not asking to be your new best friend, it's just water, geeze."

 

[Scabhair]

“This is the Taagi Baara, boy. Nothing is just.” The big rivers were all to the east and south. Here it was nothing but waves of grass as far as the eye could see, with the occasional rock to interrupt the even vista.

Scabhair measured him for a long while, silver eyes narrowed to slivers. The whole ensemble was ridiculous – a breastplate in summer? Not unless you were going to war – the long overcoat, the complete lack of preparation.

The assumptions were hardly a surprise at this point. She’d heard them all a hundred times over, in more than one language to boot.

“There’s a stream a few miles north. Do keep up.”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard slumped in relief, his sweat drenched arms dropping in exhaustion as he promptly obeyed. "Thank you," he huffed, hurrying to scramble the distance to close in on her heels. There was little grace to his movements, a bumbling pile of armor and flesh that had lost all dignity about them a few days back.

Bernard was prideful, but not to this degree. He outwardly hesitated at the ten foot mark, eyeing the large cat at her legs.

"Is that a bear?" He asked, his palms pulling open and harmless back in front of him again, aiming to keep it pacified.

 

[Scabhair]

Silence followed his question until Scabhair filled it with a long, reluctant sigh. Her hand gave the impression that, were it not wrapped around her spear, would be busy pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’ve cats in Alliria, do you not?”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard blinked, considering the animal before him again.

"...Alright," he amended, seeing his mistake.

"But you have to admit-- skinned and stretched out across a stone floor, they would look the same. Not that!-... Not that I'm going to eat you," he told it in a plaintive tone.

"Does it understand me?" He glanced up in a self-conscious wave.

 

[Scabhair]

“Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” Scabhair sent him a sharp look before shaking her head and directing her eyes forward again. What a hopeless case. Maybe killing him would be a greater mercy in the long run, same as you’d do to an orc or a gathamhr born without one leg.

“If anyone were to do any eating in this scenario, it certainly wouldn’t be you. Where did you get that sword from, anyway? Your father’s wall?”

 

[Bernard]

"I made it!" Bernard protested, indignation coating his tone. "Just last month!" This first rendition of this sword had been considerably longer, heavier, and all around gaudier. Most gems had been solid to fund the new metal he needed, but time had been spent to make the object as unnecessarily intricate as could be. And several rubies remained on the hilt. It was a step down, but still a trophy piece in its own right.

He couldn't help himself.

"Now whose being rude," he huffed, outwardly bristling as he followed.

 

[Scabhair]

“You made it?” Her voice went up enough that her brows didn’t have to. “That explains a lot. Someone else might gut you and leave you to bleed out on the side of the road.” She waved a finger at the rubies in the hilt. “Dangerous stuff, carrying that in the open.”

Which was of course why rich nobles put them on the wall.

“What are you doing in the Taagi Baara anyway?”

 

[Bernard]

He didn't seemed perturbed. I mean. She hadn't killed him, now had she?

"Is that where I am?" He panted, struggling to keep pace as the adrenaline rush became to seep out of his stomach. "I was just traveling. Just moving. I didn't realize I'd get so hot." He yawned to accentuate his point.

"How are you not struggling?" She seemed much larger than him. Much thicker skinned too. It didn't make sense. "Where do you even find food?" He had seen nill none since entering the expansive grassland.

 

[Scabhair]

She was frowning now. Had the heat already melted everything inside his brainpan?

“Nobody… just travels. You go somewhere with a purpose. A job. A task. A goal.”

And the questions just kept coming. Scabhair considered gagging him with a leather strap to make the journey more bearable. Or speeding up until she couldn’t hear.

“Because I live here. You don’t struggle walking on Allirian streets, do you?” Shaking her head, she raised her spear to point to a small cloud of dust to their left. A keen eye would note it was slowly getting bigger. “We track animals for days. Follow their migrations through the seasons. We learn to smell them, see the signs of their passing. We hunt, boy.”