Private Tales Digging up the...Dead?

[Afanas]

Afanas' eyes opened. Three-fourths of his body lay buried in the damp soil. His hat and cloak lay folded into a neat pile a few feet from his resting spot. All around him unfolded a sprawling patch of woodland, devoid of any sapient presence save for a scarce few trolls and goblins that inhabited it.

The trees lashed and crashed against each other like drumsticks in the hands of a giant. Their trunks rose as far as his preternaturally potent eyes could see, and their groves blotted out the sun, protecting him from its disquieting gaze.

Light and shadow danced across his upturned face. His ears picked up on the buzzing of insects and the subtle crunching of dry leaves. Something small and fuzzy darted past at the very edges of his vision.

He twisted his pale neck to look for the source of the intrusion but discovered nothing of note. His eyes must've been playing tricks on him.

Slowly, he closed them again, tilting his head forward and, in doing so, allowing his wavy locs to spill over and obscure much of his countenance.

He tried to sleep, thinking it'd help pass time faster, yet found himself unable to do so. He grunted and chewed on his lower lip, not all too keen on staying in the dirt's loving embrace for much longer. He could all but feel earthworms wriggling against his flesh with only a single layer of fabric separating his chalk-white skin from their pink one.

Bruk

 

[Bruk]

Bruk was still.

Uncharacteristically so, as the orc stood like a fragrant, grizzled and haphazardly carved statue with a meaty palm held out before him. A generous pile of gathered seeds and nuts sat in his hand, a tempting prize for only the bravest of nature's endless creatures.

How long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

He found it difficult to parse time; sometimes, it moved as all things should, and sometimes, it went backwards, side-to-side and upside-down (although this was usually aided by ingesting all things strange and wonderful).

However, Bruk was diligent, holding fast and still as various critters approached in hungry curiosity, some remaining on the peripheral while others dared to snuffle closer, causing him to vibrate with excitement internally but also externally, given that one particular squirrel fled immediately, rustling into the woods and away from the promise of forage faintly tinged by the smell of ham.

Brute determination steeled his resolve, and the orc returned to stillness.

A flutter down from the trees presented his reward. A small bird, precious and round with a brilliant yellow breast and black head, landed in Bruk's palm, causing his heart to dance at the sight of his new friend. It chirped and hopped around the pile of food for a fluttering moment before its small beak sought the prize for bravery.

Accepting the offering, Bruk was sure, now meant that by the laws of nature they were now-

"FRENZ!"

The boom of his excited yet tragically savage voice startled the bird, who immediately took off into the trees. The prospect of losing a new friend so soon was overwhelming, putting feet into action as Bruk immediately trampled after the bird in a futile attempt not to lose its brief companionship.

Perhaps, however, the Goddess of Nature had merely sent the bird as Her noble messenger; why else, in his pursuit of the feathery friend, would Bruk have found what appeared to be an elf (pointy ears, you see) buried upright in the dirt? Obviously, They were not dead; the orc knew that the dead should be laid horizontally, which was more comfortable for them.

Bruk skidded to an abrupt stop, managing not to trod on the head that emerged from the ground.

"HELLO!" Bruk announced in his best polite shout, waving cheerfully down at the... was it even an elf? Did elves grow from the ground? Not to his recollection, plants and trees, yes. Elves? No. "YOU IZ DA STRANGES FLOWA BRUK EVA DID SEE!"

 

[Afanas]

Afanas grew aware of Bruk's impending approach even before the green man elected to shout with enough intensity to make his eardrums vibrate. His eyelids fluttered, allowing him to regard the orc; one eyebrow arched quizzically. There was a dreamy and almost sad intensity to the almond-shaped stygian pools that were his eyes. He stirred beneath the soil, began gradually disinterring himself from the damp substrate hugging him from all sides.

In doing so, he pulled on a number of larger roots that intertwined to form an elaborate web of life. These roots spread through the ground like veins, pulsing with imperceptible life. They extended deep into the cozy darkness, but even they were no match for a man's unnatural strength.

His hands worked painstakingly to erase whatever grime remained on his physique. When he was satisfied, he'd walk over to Bruk. He towered above the orc, casting a huge looming shadow over him. Afanas canted his head to the side, a little puzzled expression gracing his bone-white countenance.


"I hate to disappoint you, my jolly green fellow, but I fear I'm no flower," he said mildly, a corner of his lip tugging into his cheek, forming a bemused smile. He couldn't help it. Their interplay had a humorous, if not ludicrous, quality to it.

Bruk

 

[Bruk]

Bruk marvelled as the strange flower emerged from the dirt, not with thirsty roots but with legs, very long legs, maybe the longest legs that the orc had ever seen. He hummed with wonderment, which, through the maw of tusks and teeth, transformed into a ponderous grunt.

"BRUK SEEZ DIS," he remarked with a bellow, which, as it turned out, was his regular cadence, "BRUK WOZ WRONG BOUT DA CLASSIMICATION. YOU CLEERLY A TREE."

Nothing, if not scientific. Trees were tall, and flowers were small. Quite simple, really.

He'd never had to crane his head upwards to gaze upon a two-legger before, and in doing so, empathised with the difficulty the elf (he was less sure now) must have had with doors; the orc found that humans especially made the most impractical-sized doors, too narrow for his well-fed frame.

"BUT NOT BE FEARED. TREEZ ARE JUS AS GOOD AS FLOWAZ. DEY JUS A BIT DIFFRENT IZ ALL, NEVA DISPOINTIN BRUK."

 

[Afanas]

Bruk
Afanas' eyes swept up and down Bruk's form, scrutinizing the greenskin in an effort to absorb as many of his features as possible. Afanas noted that, while not tall by orcish standards, Bruk was nothing short of a solid, almost square block of muscle, with a bull's neck and forearms as thick as small tree stumps.

The man before him was undoubtedly a warrior, if not a mercenary, of a kind, even if his disposition implied otherwise.

Neither the scars riddling his skin nor the muscle-bound frame lied in the image they painted in Afanas' mind's eye.

"A tree, huh? I do suppose my stature could give off that impression. Over the years, I've received a variety of unorthodox nicknames. Yours is hardly the most outlandish."

Afanas felt a sudden, symbolic brilliance above his head, prompting him to grab for the neatly folded bundle of garments and trinkets. He quickly seized a lovely pendant, its center capped with a gleaming blue sapphire wrapped in platinum carved in the shapes of fel beasts. His fingers tightened around the dark-blue scabbard that contained his longsword. He snatched it up and strapped it to his back so that the blade lay diagonally, with the disguised point peeking over his right hip.

He wouldn't be caught dead without it on him. It was simultaneously his greatest defensive tool and an invaluable reminder of his father's love, strange as it may have been. A certain warmth blossomed under his breastbone knowing that his progenitor wanted him safe.

"I know goblinkind permeates these forests in no small number. I am also aware of their propensity for thievery, hence my reluctance to leave my gear unattended. I have an emotional attachment to some of the expensive equipage. The sword was a gift from my father, whom I haven't seen in years."