Fate - First Reply Care of One's Own

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

They called the beast U'matar.

The Iuk-'U Delta was home to many a fearsome creature, its neighboring land of the Ixchel Wilds even more so. Any who called the Delta home, and any who ventured through it, ought beware. But Mogrin Dhuumal could not spare any harbor for fear, for into the Delta had he come on a mission as simple as it was honorable, and it involved U'matar, a notorious and enormous saltwater crocodile over thirty feet in length, that stalked the Delta and even lands beyond.

Presently, Mogrin had pitched camp for the night on a suitable spot of flat and dry land amidst one of the Delta's many large isles. His tent was suitably sized for his massive frame, a great construction of leather that would have offered luxurious space for a human, but for him it was merely adequate. He sat before his campfire, browning with a skewer the meat of a fresh kill over the flames. The thick wood all around him buzzed and chirped with all the varieties of insects which found such wilds favorable, and there adding to such a heavy chorus already were the calls and hoots of nocturnal animals with names perhaps known to common knowledge, perhaps unknown.

Campfires, great beacons of orange light in the dark like the radiance of stars against the night sky, oft drew in fellow adventurers; what warmth was greater to one's comfort, that of the fire or that of company, might well be an enduring question for all time.

But here now from the dark came a visitor, and Mogrin glanced their way.

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Sun falling below the horizon, Thal questioned whether it was wise to break off from the ragtag group of "adventurers" he'd been with ever since leaving Alliria, hoping to explore the rest of the world for himself. Truthfully, the only thing he lost after disappearing without a word was the illusion of safety in numbers; they were more amateurish thrill seekers bound to get themselves killed anytime soon anyway. While no survival expert, and most definitely too arrogant in his own abilities, even he understood that. Truly an agitating lot. At least while travelling alone he needn't worry about one of them cluelessly running into his carefully aimed spells when the need inevitably arose to defend himself.

There was, however, the question of where to put up camp... Thankfully he managed to find a relatively dry island having crossed across multiple, far less desirable ones on his way. From marshlands to swamps, the region hardly posed as a welcoming place for visitors who weren't accustomed to the terrain, that much seemed sure. He just didn't know if he should curse the group that set him on this particular route to the Ixchel Wilds or himself for trusting them to make that decision in the first place. Whichever it was, he could seethe about it later by a warm campfire. Hopefully soon.

A safe spot seemed scarce around these parts, however; creatures wailing in the not-so-far distance, presumably praying on whatever they could get their claws on. Luckily for him, he had little need for an open light source to see, making it slightly more likely to avoid the attention of at least some of the predators lurking around.

Steps slowing slightly, he assessed his surroundings. Barely a spot to call shelter, until he caught a glimpse of the flickering light bearing all the indications of a campfire. Not to say it was any more promising, however, campfires oft meant life, and life all too frequently had a tendency for aggression. Especially within the looming shroud of night. After a brief moment of deliberation, the young half-elf decided the risk was worth it. Definitely better than aimlessly wandering around.

He instinctively approached with soft steps, slowing to a halt as he caught a glimpse of the person around the camp— an Ogre. If he wasn't slightly afraid already, now he definitely felt a tinge of terror. There was no going back now, he was definitely seen approaching and there was no outrunning an Ogre if he set his mind on crushing the half-elf like an anthill. No, the only choice he had was to be nice, and so he opened his mouth attempting a greeting, then— nothing. No words, no sounds, just awkward silence. The young man had no words or a clue of what to say. Admittedly, Thal had never met an Ogre before, simply having heard of their fearsome reputation, but, just by chance, maybe, he was friendly? Hopefully.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

At any meeting in such conditions as these, assessments were made by both parties of the other. Mogrin regarded the newcomer as the newcomer regarded him. Such a chance meeting as this, here in these remote environs, might have been unlikely but certainly not impossible. A man—no, elf, judging by the ears—an elf with gear and garments meant for travel. But he stood there with an open mouth, as though his tongue were caught in a trap. Such an expression wouldn't have been found on a marauder.

So Mogrin shifted his skewer with the meat on it the elf's way, and said simply, "Hungry?"



Thalassran Hargraven

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Speechlessness. It was a particularly rare occurrence for Thalassran. He always seemed to have an opinion or something— absolutely anything to say. The sight of an ogre seemed to be the thing that finally tied his tongue in a knot. Yet, he couldn't complain; he set out to see the world, to have new and exciting experiences, did he not? Well, now he certainly had something to brag about when he would finally return to the city.

Only just realising his own reaction, the young half-elf quickly snapped his mouth shut— truly an embarrassing display. The ogre's reaction, however, was not what his wildest anxieties convinced him to expect. A massive relief. "Yes... thank you," he mumbled with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. This was wholly unexpected, but it was most definitely appreciated. "My uhm... map seemed to be wrong and I couldn't quite make out which direction I was supposed to be headed, sooo I thought I'd try my luck when I saw your campfire from a distance." Thal pointed at the flame beside them; the only source of light and vibrance in the immediate vicinity. He attempted to clarify why exactly he just stumbled into a complete stranger's camp, though of course, he'd never outright admit he had absolutely no idea where he was within the Delta, and that in fact he was completely lost.

A meek smile bent around his lips as he ambled over with hesitant steps, accepting the skewer from the giant tower of muscle in front of him. His jet-black cloak creased around his lithe frame as he took a seat opposite the ogre, revealing the small brown leather satchel he desperately clutched onto at all times, immediately evident he was hardly equipped for a journey on his own. Though at least he wore an appropriate travel ensemble, carrying a small water flask attached to his belt, along with a sheathed dagger should things turn south in the wilderness. Conspicuously, however, no food of his own. Quite lucky, that he managed to find someone generous enough to lend him some. Nor did he have a tent, figuring that carrying one would only slow him down... A most curious choice indeed.

Thal glanced up at his newfound camping "buddy", addressing him in a soft tone, his meek smile still lingering on his face; "Nice to meet you, by the way.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Better company than the host of nocturnal creatures chirping or buzzing or hooting or making just about every other manner of noise out there in the dark. Ha, Mogrin couldn't imagine the Ixchel Wilds; how in the hell could someone get a wink of sleep out there if the Delta just before it had this level of vibrant night life? Fortunately, his prey likely wasn't out that far.

But yes, the elf (for all Mogrin knew at present of his half-blooded nature) was better company than all of that out there. An odd sight for the Delta to be sure, but then, Mogrin didn't care much for the sights that weren't odd in the Delta, so he was welcome enough indeed. Just judging from his demeanor he didn't seem to be any kind of cutpurse or rogue any more than a marauder; there was a sincerity in the elf's voice and words that encouraged hospitality. And this all promised a little respite from Mogrin's solo venture into the Delta.

Nice to meet you, by the way.

"Mogrin Dhuumal," he said, introducing himself. "And I hope you like the taste of crocodile."

He shifted somewhat, and the shadows rearranged such that it could be better seen where the meat had come from. Beside Mogrin on a patchwork sheet of leather were the sectioned remains of a crocodile. Its scaly skin had been removed and placed on one part of the sheet, cuts of meat on another, and its innards and bones had long since been discarded.

"They're everywhere out here," Mogrin said as he reached for another stick and produced one of his axes and started honing the point of the stick to make another skewer.

Thalassran Hargraven

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Mogrin, hmm. A pretty gnarly name he thought. "Thalassran Hargraven, but Thal will do just fine." The boy watched as Mogrin scooted over slightly, revealing the origin of their dinner. "Crocodile, huh? Never tried it before," and he was hardly in any position to be squeamish about it right now, lest he preferred to eat the many less-than-appetising bugs scurrying about their feet. No, definitely not. Crocodile it was.

With only a moment of hesitation, he bit a chunk off the skewer— not too bad, his face slightly perked up at the unexpected delicacy. "I see you showed it who's boss around here," he joked lightly, gesturing toward the dead carcass, or what was left of it, in hopes of lifting the dreary mood slightly.

Taking another bite, he began to savour his modest meal more and more; it really wasn't half-bad now that he came to think of it. Funny, though, how he was completely unaware of any crocodiles inhabiting the area until now. Would've certainly been an interesting surprise should he have come across one earlier. It did make him wonder, however, "So. What is an Ogre like yourself doing out here?"

Curiosity has got the better of him, though truthfully he wasn't expecting any fancy reasons. Or even honesty, but it was worth asking nonetheless, even if just to make conversation. Perhaps he was travelling through like he himself was?— he thought. Or perhaps he lived in a nearby settlement? Hells, maybe even just enjoying the wonders of nature. Thal was not convinced of that one though. This was hardly a place for relaxation but eh, each their own.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Crocodile, huh? Never tried it before.

"I haven't either," Mogrin said. "But it's good." Surprisingly so, in fact, and going off of Thal's expression after he himself took a bite, seemed that surprise was shared. Though Mogrin had come here to the Delta for other reasons, he was thinking he might come back one day again. Who knows, maybe he would be the ogre who introduced Gild to a new kind of delicacy.

Then Thal asked the question. The question that was as simple and natural as it was expansive and meaningful.

Mogrin set his axe down and with his free hand tapped the iron torque that he wore around his neck. "This." And then after a pause, "Not mine, but another's."

Skewer now fashioned from the stick, he punctured one of the cuts of meat and held it over the fire.

"My people, the Maulgar, whom the Common Tongue calls 'ogres', can be found in the Steppe, the Spine, the Isles of Sheketh in Tyr, other places. I don't know about the others, but the Maulgar of the mountains—the Spine—where my ancestors come from, they had a tradition and it's kept alive even today." Even though the ogres of his tribe no longer hailed from the mountains but from the Kingdom of Gild. "When a Maulgar comes of fighting age, he or she is given a torque made by his or her mother, father, or another relative if both are dead. You are grown now, says the torque, look at the mighty girth of your neck! You are loved, says the torque, for I was made by the hands of your family! You are a warrior, says the torque, because at last your hands are worthy enough to grasp a weapon! And more so: Threshkuul, the Almighty One, the ancient god of the Maulgar, he sees you now. Show him your strength, both in victory and defeat."

Mogrin rotated the skewer.

"I had a friend whose name was Drogkuul. He was a hunter and a butcher, tracking and killing big game and monsters as much as he was carving up choice cuts of meat in the city. On the wall of his home he has the most impressive collection of heads you'll ever see, and I myself have never seen half of the creatures he has. He made a living pitting himself against beasts who had only the fiercest of reputations. And it was one such beast which led him here to the Iuk'U Delta. It was one such beast that claimed his life. And that beast's name is U'matar, a saltwater crocodile of gigantic proportions and an endless appetite."

Mogrin rotated the skewer again. Looked to Thalassran.

"Drogkuul's Ma is back home, waiting with a heart heavy with grief. I cannot bring her Drogkuul's body, because I am told the whole of it was eaten by U'matar. But I can bring her back his torque, the same which she herself forged with her own hands years ago. I can. And I will."

Thalassran Hargraven

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Thal listened to Mogrin with the utmost intent to absorb as much of what he said as possible. Maulgar culture seemed fascinating. Such strong kinship was almost unheard of in Alliria, everyone seemed to always fend for themselves. It was all he ever knew; risking one's life to retrieve an heirloom, even of such importance would almost certainly be coined as lunacy. That's not to say people never looked out for each other— far from it, but he knew not one of his friends would go to such lengths if he were to be killed.

No— it was him against the world. The thought made him instinctively squeeze his satchel with his elbow, making sure his only true valuable, besides his headpiece, was safe.

"That's very noble." An air of sincerity lingered in his voice; he truly meant it even if it felt like a foreign concept to him. "I haven't heard much of your people before, the Maulgar," he corrected himself from earlier. Even if referring to them as ogres was completely acceptable, it still felt more respectful to address them the way they did each other.

"I do hope you find and can return your friend's uhm... Torque, was it?" He had hoped he got it right, pretty sure that's what Mogrin called it.

With a turn of his skewer, he bit another chunk off of the meat.

"This "U'matar"... How gigantic are we speaking?" A hint of concern plagued his words. A creature of such fearsome description did not bode well for him should he encounter it by himself. Sure he was by all accounts a talented sorcerer, even if self-trained, there were definite limits to what he could achieve on his own.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

That's very noble.

Mogrin gave a steady nod to that. A solemn task, and a dangerous one as well. Though Mogrin did far better at the latter part than the former. Finding and killing U'matar would be the easy part; returning to Gild, handing over Drogkuul's torque to his Ma, stricken already with sorrow, that would be hard. Some Maulgar were proud of their sons, their fathers, their brothers dying in a fight, certain of Threshkuul's favor (or Regel's favor, for an ever-growing number of Gildan ogres) for their fallen kin, and shed not a tear but beat their chests in celebration; some, like Drogkuul's Ma, grieved openly, and Mogrin was unaccustomed to this.

"Torque, yes," Mogrin confirmed. He pulled back his skewered meat and sniffed it and took a bite, closing his eyes in bliss as he savored the taste. Everything tasted good after building up an appetite, but meat tasted the best. Though some spices and seasoning never hurt. He'd have to remember to pack those next time.

Thal asked then of U'matar, and it was all Mogrin could do to relay what he himself had heard.

"The beast has been sighted time and time again, not only in the Delta but elsewhere around it. Villagers terrorized by the beast have all said of it that it is no less than thirty feet in length. Some say that it is truly massive, like a dragon almost, up to fifty feet." Mogrin chuckled at the imagined shrewdness of the villagers in question, saying, "All these sightings have been from far away, so who's to say? On the way here I spoke to the guides from a village called Krakendown; they were with Drogkuul when U'matar attacked. They say that when they returned to the spot hours later, only his weapons lay where he had dropped them. So...if U'matar can fatten itself with the weight of an ogre, then it is certainly a beast that has lived long and grown large. But even if it weren't so big, I'll know the beast when I find it."

He tapped a finger next to an eye.

"U'matar is blind in one eye. The story the guides told me goes like this: 'one eye sees nothing, the other sees your death.'"

Whoever got close enough to know about the one blind eye and got away to tell about sounded like he had...oh, Mogrin didn't know...an Allirian's luck.

Thalassran Hargraven

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Thalassran's eyes widened as Mogrin let on the stories he'd heard from the locals. Fifty feet?! Sure, it likely was an exaggeration, but even half of that would be enormous enough to be absolutely terrifying. Not to mention it did gobble up an entire ogre according to Mogrin... That feat in itself was enough to run a chill down Thal's spine.

In a nutshell: The beast was out there and possibly nearby too.

Saying he was on edge after hearing all that would be an understatement, but at least he wasn't alone at the moment. Still, it didn't stop him from glancing around every so often— just to be safe. "Not knowing would've been better actually." Ignorance truly was bliss. Then he could rest easy, oblivious to the dangers roaming the Delta; he'd find out at some point anyway.

Having finished his skewer, he aptly tossed it into the fire and stared at it for a moment. "You plan on killing it with that?" he gestured towards the axe Mogrin had used to shape the skewer earlier. "Sounds like a mean feat." How Mogrin would achieve it however was beyond the young half-elf's scope. It seemed the odds were stacked against him, considering another who was likely more familiar with the beast was felled by it.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Not knowing would've been better actually.

Mogrin found the sentiment expressed by Thalassran distasteful. Then again, running counter to Mogrin's immediate response, Thal was not out here in the Delta on the same mission as he was, nor was he necessarily a warrior—unless he would come to state otherwise—and also that very sentiment he had was in fact shared by many. U'matar was a frightening beast. One of the reasons it had lived so long, doubtless, was because of the fear deterring many a hunter.

As for Thal, what was he out this far for? Was he some manner of scholar or explorer? Mogrin made it a note to ask in his own turn.

But first, he thumped the axe with the back of his hand as it lay on the ground and answered, "Either with this, or my other axe, or my club."

He took another bite from his skewer.

"Those guides from Krakendown, they say that a crocodile's bite is mighty, that nothing can escape its jaws once clenched. But their weakness...ah ha, their weakness is that while their jaws clamp down with the force of a titan, they open with a meekness which pales before the strength of even the slightest of men."

Mogrin tapped at the meat on his skewer with a thick finger.

"It worked well enough on this one, pouncing on it and holding its jaw shut, wrestling with it." His throat rumbled with consideration. "Then again, this one was only as big as me. Nine feet, ten feet, somewhere in-between. A runt, compared to U'matar."

Thalassran Hargraven

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Thal theatrically raised both hands up, letting go of his scepticism with an amused grin. "Fair enough," he quipped. "I wouldn't know how these things work— fighting and the like." Not entirely true, but evident in his lack of weaponry on hand. Save for his puny dagger he could hardly even use properly half the time, always accidentally gripping the iron pummel instead of the wrapped handle. Which... well, considering his iron allergy, even if mild by fae standards, was less than ideal. He seriously needed to get one of his own that he could reliably use. After all, it could one day prove to be the deciding factor between life and death.

The biggest thing on his mind right now, however, was how he'd even defend himself in this place... With magic, of course, but flinging an arcane bolt at something like U'matar would precisely do absolutely nothing. It probably would just barely scratch the scales on one of the "regular" beasts Mogrin made his dinner earlier; there was a fat chance Thal would try to wrestle one of them in the mud. No, he'd have to be more creative than those if he fancied living.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Not a warrior, but certainly one who travels, and, if Mogrin had to guess, he would say that Thal was more well-traveled—maybe even far more well-traveled—than he was. Thal had gotten from wherever he hailed—perhaps even a place as far-flung as the Falwood itself on Liadain—to the Delta, and such a breadth of travel was no small feat. Mogrin? He didn't get out from Campania very often.

"I don't know how it's going to work against U'matar either," Mogrin said, right before he flashed a savage grin back to Thal, matching his amused grin with that gesture in kind. "But I'll return home, torque in hand, knowing how it was done."

Mogrin finished the chunk of meat on his skewer, holding it with his teeth and cleanly sliding the skewer out. He chewed, and then he speared another chunk and held it over the fire.

"And you? Where is that map of yours taking you?"

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

That was fair enough. Mogrin's confidence definitely left no room for pessimism. Thal though? He'll stay as clear of U'matar as possible— if possible. Surely a beast of that size couldn't sneak up on him... Right?

"And you? Where is that map of yours taking you?"

The young half-elf considered the question for a moment. Where was his map taking him? "Just places," he coyed on instict. Guarding his secrets as he always did, but it was only fair he returned the gesture and opened up a little. "Ixchel Wilds maybe, then back across the Spine to the Allir Reach." Not a journey for the faint-hearted, but it was better than keeping an inn back home. "Just seeing the world you know." Truth be told there wasn't much other incentive for him to be out here besides to widen his perspective. Whether it will change him in any meaningful way however is yet to be seen.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

"The Ixchel Wilds," Mogrin mused. "I was just thinking about how difficult it would be to sleep there, if even the Delta which precedes it is this noisy at night. Hmmm. But how would I know? This marks the farthest east that I have ever been from my homeland in Campania. One could hear tales of far-flung lands, but the ears are a poor substitute for the eyes."

If Mogrin knew how to read, maybe he would've mentioned that. Yet even if he did, again, opening some dusty tome and pouring over its author's descriptions, however lavish they might be, paled in comparison to seeing the world for yourself.

"You look young." Mogrin chuckled. "But I don't know what counts as young for elves. Have you traveled much already? Would you say it is a curiosity, or a passion?"

Some intrepid world travelers managed to make a living out of it. Some even became well-renowned, what with their ability to regale those whom they encounter with interesting, fascinating, and even thrilling accounts of the world unseen by their eyes. If a people had even a shred of hospitality inherent in their culture, such travelers were often warmly received. Which, Mogrin supposed, might make possible such weaponless journeys.

 

[Thalassran Hargraven]

Mogrin made a good point. It is very loud out here with all the wildlife and it was safe to assume it wouldn't be any better in the Wilds. Campania though... interesting and unsettling. His muscles tensed slightly at its mention. All he'd heard of the region was about Gild and its infamous Praetors. For the most part, he's avoided them quite well. Thankfully his former travelling companions were more insistent on seeing the Eldyr Tree and the dwarven city of Belgrath. Probably the only good decision they've made in Thal's eyes. For his sake anyway.

Even with his looming concerns over Mogrin's likely affiliations, Thal made a conscious effort to compose himself on the outside, as if everything was perfectly fine— the complete opposite being the case in his mind. Scheming whatever plan he could in case things turned sour but for now, he'd hold no judgment and see how things turned out.

Putting aside his worries, the half-elf let out a titter at Mogrin's remark. "Quite young," he smirked. "Only twenty-six, practically a child by elven standards. As mother always reminds me..." Or especially by fae standards, though there was no way he'd mention that part of his heritage right now.

Thal briefly glanced at the cackling fire between them as he considered his answer to Morgin's second question. "No," he replied softly. "I spent all my life tending to my mother's inn. Until now anyway." His gaze turned to look up at Mogrin with a puzzled expression, unsure of his next answer. "Probably curiosity? I don't know. It's more interesting than looking after all the vagrants passing through the inn." A hint of bitterness lingered in his voice before he forced a soft smile onto his face in an attempt to mask his true feelings.

Mogrin Dhuumal

 

[Mogrin Dhuumal]

Only twenty-six. And yes, Thal was quite right, that number meant something far different for an elf than it did for, say, an ogre. Thal stared down the yawning maw of a mortality that could easily last for ten times the length of Mogrin's own—the very thought was dizzying. To him it seemed that to fill such a lifetime with a host of enjoyable and worthwhile experiences would be akin to filling up a gorge with water bailed in by bucket.

No small feat, this. Was it any wonder that he left the tending of his mother's inn to brave the dangers of the road and the wood?

"More interesting indeed. You have a large task before you, Thal of the West." Mogrin didn't know precisely from where Thalassran had come, but from the general overview of his course, he reckoned it had to be more to the west than his own home in Gild.

"Nature has seen fit to bless your kind with years far surpassing others." Mogrin smiled heartily. "You might well find yourself telling my great-great-great-great-great-grandsons of the time you met their ancestor Mogrin by a campfire in the middle of the Iuk-'U Delta."

He pulled back his skewer from the licking flames, and he resumed his point.

"Many men live the quiet life without complaint—they yearn for such a life, even. But uncommon is the call to the uncommon, to that which enriches a man's life through variety. A warrior may speak to many battles, a sailor to many shores, and an explorer, like you, to the many lands and peoples your eyes have beheld. To the men of the quiet life, you will bring them the world they never would have known, and they will be held in fascination by wonder."

Mogrin, satisfied, took a bite of his freshly cooked crocodile meat.

"A large task—there's much of Arethil for your eyes to see."

Thalassran Hargraven