Private Tales Don't go into the woods

[Hath Charosh]

"No, no! I'm not here to fight!" Hath lowered his head and kept his hands by his sides. His palms were facing the band of orcs ahead of him to show that he was unarmed. It was a typical posture among the orcs to show a lack of aggression.

The band ahead were on edge. They had clearly been in a fight. Hath had watched the group for a while before deciding to approach. Six orcs even with four of them badly injured were still a threat. However they were on the path through the woods and he decided it was worth the risk to find out if there was something ahead he needed to avoid.

"Back off!" snarled the leader. Hath fixed her with his gaze. Orcs liked hierarchy. It was never complicated, it could always change and it gave them stability. If you were in charge and you told others to fight then you would be at the front. Not hiding in a castle a hundred miles away.

"Just want to pass. What did this?" From the broken and mangled wounded orcs he suspected a hill giant. Elves were a greater danger here. They were unpredictable. Often they tolerated orcs in their woods. The hunters didn't deforest land like the humans. Sometimes they did not. If this had been elves then the orcs would be dead. The twisted broken limbs said giant, but Hath couldn't see any other signs: tree branches intact, no footprints.

"None of your fucking business," spat the younger male by her side. Hath ignored him. He had travelled the spine, fought giants and blight orcs and chased demons back to hell. He wasn't about to respond to a youngster's bile.

"A mage. Of your tribe?" She asked.

"My tribe is two weeks that way," Hath said, pointing past them. He took a few steps closer. Where they would be able to see the touch of red in his right eye and the scars that remained from the corruption.

"Why should we believe you?" quipped the young one.

This time Hath turned to him. "Do not speak again. Go and treat your wounded."

The leader waved him away. Hath noted white stripes etched into his shoulder. He knew that rune. The Jhakak. A disparate tribe known for raiding and pillaging.

"Watch yourself," she called. "She killed my men with a magical club. Then took off South."

Hath narrowed his eyes. "Glowing runes on her skin?" It couldn't have been. She lived far from here.

The reaction suggested that it very well could have been. The orcs drew weapons. At least, those that still could. Hath had already taken off through the woods to the south of the path. She had to be told not to go that way. The elves did not tolerate a deep incursion into their woods.

Lagakh

 

[Lagakh]

A white lie was an easy, even justifiable, thing to tell a child. How did they come into existence? Well, as it so happens, upon two lovers wishing for a child, a large harpy vulture arrives on the banks of the Crowbear and with one offering of a rare golden perch, it belches out a child that is no larger than a twig. What happens when someone dies? They clearly depart across the ocean, to where the Ra Gnamh greets the Ryt. Once the spirit pays homage to whatever deity it seems fit to, it is given a new life far removed from its former self. A dung beetle tramping through the woods, a lazy leopard on the frosty steppes, or a hawk flying across the blistering sands of the sahara.

A white lie was a white lie because it caused no pain. It didn't hurt. Needless to say that when Laga returned to her tribe and found their elder on their death bed, it was not a white lie that was broken with final words of truth. It was something for more duplicitous. It was a gargantuan behemoth of a lie, the sort that rocked the very foundation of who she was. The very principles her life was formed upon, the very anger that had pushed her to become a fierce battle mage. Everything that she had been led to believe crumbled on one fateful day, tossed beneath the ramming force of an old woman, whispering quietly from pursed lips.

She didn't leave the tribe a smoking cinder pot, ruined in her wake. Though she would have felt justified in doing so. She had made a promise to others, and a promise to herself, that she would never turn West. Why would she? Molthal was to the East of the Spine and was all she would ever need. It turned out, despite what she knew, that her world needn't rely on Molthal. It turned out, despite any contrary vows, that no one could be trusted. Not even herself.

Fal'Addas was a world away. Through Bhathairk, across the Sayve, down the reach and through Alliria, cut south of the Savannah and into the woods. Laga had never known anything beyond the Spine and the mountains and suddenly, she was to become accustomed to the new topography and land forms. Everything was alien to her and when pressed against concerns for her own well-being, she recoiled to the one nature that had always served her best: being prickly.

"Oi." She rested the club on her shoulder and pointed to the merchant. He was tall, slender, and pointed ears protruded from a green cap that pressed greasy black hair against his slick forehead. "Got any food in that satchel?"
"For the right price." He returned, suspiciously.

Laga had precious little possessions on her. Her currency had began as pebbles, rare minerals, and precious stones. It had turned to metal and coin as things were bartered away, small jobs were completed for food, and she made her way. Her thick furs had been replaced with treated hide. Long clothing had been replaced with considerably more comfortable clothing. Alternatively, her choice in clothing often drew the eyes as it revealed far more of her scarification than she liked. Shoulders, thighs, upper back, back of the neck, across the majority of her arms. But she had moved far beyond caring what people thought.

Reaching into her satchel, she offered the elf a bit of silver and he repaid her with an equivalent and fair amount of salted meat.

"You do realize where this road leads? It is not safe for your kind."
"Is that right?" She smirked as she placed one fist on her hip, the other hand wagging the salted meat in his direction. "I hadn't realized an elf couldn't travel this way..." The salt meat moved from the man towards the road, gesturing in the southern path. The elf returned a confused expression though Laga didn't notice. Or maybe she simply pretended not to. "I think I'll try my chances, thank you very much."

He didn't get a chance to respond before she cut across the road and moved quietly through the thickly vegetated woods.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath couldn't move through these woods without leaving a trail. Fortunately the one he followed was leaving even more signs of their passage. It might not have been her. Whilst he had once told her how unique her magic had seemed to him, there were many orcs in the world. It could not have been unique to Lagakh's tribe.

These woods could be dangerous. The further you went into elven territory the more dangerous it became. There had been a few interactions between his tribe and the elves. Sometimes they were afforded a face to face warning. Sometimes an arrow and the flash of a sword was used to turn the orcs away. Once a single eleven blade master had killed three orcs.

Hath was a good shot. He pulled a poundage that meant he could out distance any elven archer. That might have been useful in the open ground but it meant nothing in the woods. If the orc ahead of him aggravated some eleven scouts Hath doubted he would even see them before he felt the sting of an arrow.

This wasn't worth the risk, he told himself.

Should have killed the rest of the bandits and taken what they had.

That fractured soul of a demon was gone. It no longer spoke to him. It seemed that Hath had become so accustomed to it that he sometimes voices thoughts he was ashamed of inside his head in the same way. That was what he told himself. He didn't like to consider the possibility that it had altered him forever.

 

[Lagakh]

The air was thick and humid, carrying heavily through the under-story like a tightly stitched quilt. It was entirely foreign to what she was accustomed, though not unexpected. On the Spine, the wind blew hard and blew arid, carrying the scent of rotting meat and sparse yet fragrant cacti populations for miles. A beast died on the hills and was supper for vultures for many days, lying next to a spiny pear that was just preparing to bloom. A cantankerous feast, impregnated with earthly perfume.

But here, the world was overwhelming. Birches grew tall and robust, pines filled the empty spaces that undoubtedly existed not ten years ago, following a felled old one. Thick vines crept up along elder and dying trees, sprouting tendrils that hung outward in filigree that captured loose rays of sunshine, desperately piercing the dense canopy. Small shrubs littered the forest floor like patches of pilling in an otherwise pristine rug, likely the result of droppings from roaming game like high horned deer or the moon faced antelopes. An impenetrable carpet of grasses and lichens filled the floor gaps, leaving a cushy and peaty rug for the traveler as she moved.

Her missions, particularly between Elbion and Alliria, had taught her the vast benefits of scar casting. Far beyond reinforcement magic, she had learned of ways to manipulate her skin and presence beyond just defense or offense. To soften her step, to forcibly constrict her blood flow and reduce her pulse, to sharpen her nails and tusks. But here, the softening of her step would be an unnecessary waste of energy. Here, every ounce of blood flow would be needed. And here, dulled nails and tusks would do just fine.

She hugged a tree and sat crouching, low to the floor and ever present. Amidst the smells of ornamental orchids, growing in an upwelled spring amidst a broken patch in the canopy, she caught the whiff of smoke. And meat. Fresh meat, charring on a spinning branch, a seasoned with herbs like rosemary, sage, and anise. If it had not been for the traded salt meat, exchanged for something that jingled, the growling of her stomach might have betrayed her otherwise clandestine approach.

Instead, she crept forward and watched. Brazen were this trio of vagabond elves, garbed in varying degrees of clothing, as they sat around a fire and watched the spinning meat intensely. She'd need to fight them or find a way around, it was simply a matter of timing.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The elves knew how the orcs passed down their tales from generation to generation. They knew that each orc embellished upon the story. They knew all this and had used it for centuries. The orcs held a communal memory through this tales, one that changed quickly compared to the lifetime of an elf.

Goring bored of orcs straying too deep into their territory their actions had all been to instill a sense of fear in Hath's people and the other tribes that resided close to the north of Falwood. Stories had grown, shifted. Hath had been brought up with an instinctive fear of going too deep into the elven woods. He would not have been pleased to find out that it was born of an elven plan to manipulate his people.

It was better than the treatment the humans of Vel Anir received. They didn't learn easily. The last attempt to create an encampment near their forests had been wiped out in a single night.

Hath stopped and eased himself into the shadows when he grew close to the elves. He did not see the truth of three vagabonds huddled around a fire. He heard the tales of those who ventured too deep into woods, disturbed the elves and had just their heads returned to the edge of the forest.

Hath did not even realise Lagakh was just a few strides to his right.

 

[Lagakh]

"Hi aras na- prettui man..." One of them uttered in a low growl, almost impossible for Laga to make out. While she had heard bits and pieces of various elvish dialects since prowling through the Falwoods, this expression escaped her. She was fairly certain it was a compliment, based on the tone. And that it maybe involved deer.

"Ha na-..." Another stopped, turning the roast on the spit as the flames licked at the meat. Laga watched intently. It was deer, as she had expected. But it was small, perhaps a doe. The skin was charred along the back and the meat was sweating profusely. "All about the slow cooking." The third spoke up, laughing, as he patted the other elf on the leather pauldron. He had only one as the other shoulder was covered in only a green woolen shirt that came to a cusp at a laced leather jerkin.

"Gwenly." The meat turner nodded, clearly having difficulty with the language. Or maybe he simply preferred their native tongue. The Orc hybrid was having a bit of difficulty sorting it out. "Herbs, sage and thyme. An aedd...eh, vinegar and pepper." His accent seemed reminiscent of a scholarly type, the sort she might have avoided on her path through Elbion. It had flourishes of kindness interwoven with intense moments of condescension. But the other two seemed to not be bothered.

As far as patience went, Laga's had all but dried up. And that well wasn't particularly brimming in the first place. As she intended to step out of the shadow of the tree, she looked over and caught the glimpse of another standing nearby. She hadn't sensed it at first but no rune caster was worth their blood if they couldn't sense the remnants of their own marks, even one as faded as this. And...corrupted.

Dragging a nail down the tree, she pulled a piece of the bark free and flung it at Charosh. Should he break free of whatever mysticism was holding him, he might see the short Orc adorned with a perplexed expression. Almost as if, without having to say a single word, her thoughts were as clear as the day was long.

What the fuck?!?

 

[Hath Charosh]

Tusks bared, he turned in the direction of the object that had struck him and let out a soft growl. It took his mind to sort everything out and realise he had only been struck by something small nd light.

Lagakh was looking back at him. So it was her, despite the odds. She did not look happy. He turned from her to the elves and back. The first time he had met her, Hath had ended up incredulous that she had attacked a group of blight orcs because they had fresh meat. Admittedly it had also turned out that they were responsible for most of the hardship she had been through.

What, he wondered, would Lagakh do for the seasoned deer being roasted.

He pointed to her and flicked his hand up in the air.

And what are you doing here?

 

[Lagakh]

She curled one of her small hands into a fist and punched her open palm, multiple times. It may have not been clear whether she was intending that threat towards the elves for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or for Charosh for the exact same reasons, ruining her clandestine operation. And if that wasn't clear, it was very likely intentional.

She had not enough time to make another obscene gesture towards the larger Orc before a whistle passed by them, punctuated by a thwap as the arrow landed 15 paces back in the bark of a large oak.

"Cáemm adhart!" One screamed as Laga looked beyond the tree and towards the three. One had his bow out, string pulled taut and an arrow brandished. The other two were pulling curved sabers from lizard skinned scabbards. Laga growled and hit her fist against her palm once more. But this time, it wasn't just a threat.

The scars tracing down the haunches of her thighs to her shins, up across her shoulders, arms, and down her back, and across her face, turned a deep indigo. The glow was quiet at first, illuminating only the tree in front of her. But it soon grew to be something rather audacious and it was apparent she no longer had the desire to hide herself.

"Stay put, Charosh of the Fiarach!" She growled in deep orcish as she reeled back, hitting the tree with a thunderous crack. The indigo energy jumped from her fists like embers from a smiths hammer. The sourwood groaned and split at the base and she punched it again, sending it careening forward towards trio. As the angle of the tree descended, Laga took off in a run up the trunk and towards the group.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Nothing about this situation should have been amusing. He knew that whoever came out on top in this skirmish it was had news for him. Lagakh was going to be furious. The elves would probably skin him and display him as a warning to other orcs.

He was not sure which he was most afraid of.

And yet when she punched out a tree and then ran up the still falling trunk to finish a fight a bark of laughter burst forth before he could stop it.

The elves didn't stand a chance. Disobeying her order seemed unwise. As she ran he strung his bow. She hadn't told him not to do that. The elves vanished from his sight as the canopy came crashing down upon them. He nocked an arrow anyway.

 

[Lagakh]

Ribbons of smoke, lifting from the cindering fire, fanned out in preparation of the incoming tree crown. As it smacked against the campfire, the gray smoke shot in every direction. Like entering the fog littered abode of a mystical wizard, it seemed to crawl across the ground before slowing and dissipating altogether. The sounds of the crackling fire, dying beneath the tree, were in chorus to the screaming echoes of the bow wielding elf who had his leg pinned underneath the trunk. He clinched his teeth and went to scream once more but his words fell hollow.

Slumping down to the ground, Laga looked up from the man after hitting him one hard time in the face. In her gaze, the two elves had brandished their curved elven sabers. It was hard to make out but from the short distance, Laga was fairly certain that not only were the weapons of poor quality, but so were the wielders. Their hand positioning was poor, too far up the hilt and disjointed, and their feet placement meant a single pirouette would leave them entangled like vines.

Laga lunged in a feint maneuver. One stepped back and the other charged, swinging the saber diagonally. She moved effortlessly to the side in a swift dodge. Lifting her leg, she kicked the man across the back and sent him into a nearby tree. His sword clattered to the ground and Laga turned her attention to the squeamish one.

"Thkailantha..." She said, still glowing iridescent and indigo, as she took a step forward. "Tell me what you know of that name and..." She held up her hand, runes breathing across the cuts on her palm. "Don't run. I don't want to chase you but I will. And you won't escape me."

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath watched all the commotion through the curtain of the smoke and the fallen canopy. Shapes dancing in the ruins of the tree. The last chance of the fading fire to play with its shadows. The elves were dancing stick figures. Lagakh was the source of her own light, easier to follow.

As were the sounds of her administering a thorough beating to the elves.

She had told him to stay here and it seemed unwise to irk her. Hoping that she might have gotten her anger out of her system, he took a few strides to circle the fallen tree.

"Don't run. I don't want to chase you but I will. And you won't escape me."

Hath hadn't heard what she had asked first. The elf before her still held a sabre, but his grip was all wrong. Hath stayed very still, blending into the shadows as he waited to see what came next. If the elf ran he could put an arrow in his shin to dissuade him from getting far.

 

[Lagakh]

"Im ceri- ú- heni-..." The Elf uttered, still holding up the saber in a weak en garde. The orcish hybrid closed her outstretched hand into a fist, shaking her head.

"Don't pretend you can't speak common tongue, Elf..." One might have thought she would have had a hard time speaking through such an iron clenched jaw. One would be wrong.

"Im...Im...Tur-'t ped..."

She took another step forward. "If you utter another word in elvish, you wont have a tongue to speak the common."

The elf quivered, his eyes darting from Laga to the Orc circling the tree. The short Orc cleared the distance without hesitation, hitting the elf hard in his sword wielding hand. He flailed as his arm swung back, flinging the blade in a shimmering arc through a dense canopy of alders and holly. Stumbling, he fell backwards and found he had nowhere to go. His back was pressed against the trunk of a shagbark.

"Not exactly staying put..." She uttered in growling orcish, casting a glance over her shoulder.
"I...I don't speak Orcish..."
"Ah..." Laga smiled as she knelt. "But you do speak common." She curled her hand around his linen shirt, bundled up beneath his rough leather jerkin. "Thkailantha...speak. While you still can."

 

[Hath Charosh]

A soft twang was let out by his bow as he un-nocked his arrow. He looked down at his bow as if it had betrayed him. Hath did not want to draw her attention right now. The elf could soak up all of her ire for now, not that he looked as if he could take very much.

He could have tried to slink away now. Hath felt a strange need to finish what he had started now. He had come deeper into elven territory than he had ever been with the intention to warn Lagakh against going any further. If he was entirely honest with himself he would admit that he had mostly come just out of curiosity to see if she had come this far west.

She probably loathed the heat. That amused him, even if any kind of annoyance was not going to work in his favour today.

"Er...you...that's a full name?" mumbled the elf.

 

[Lagakh]

She felt the sweat running down her forehead, cutting through her scars like some sort of waves across a trench. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly, in rhythm with her chest, as she came down from the high of the rune casting. She focused her attention on the elf though she was ever attentive to the Orc at her back. He could try and leave but, just like the elf, he wouldn't make it far without explaining his circumstance.

"I don't know..." She uttered, angrily, as she released her grip. "Work it out!" She snapped as she stood up and dusted herself. "You elves are smart, got years under your belt and plenty of wisdom." Every word seethed, like it was laced intrinsically with sarcasm. She hardly thought well of the elven race.

"But I'm only 75..."
"I don't care. Sort. It. Out. I'll give you a moment, to collect your thoughts."

Turning on her heel, she approached Charosh with as much anger as she had when she attacked the elves. She shot a finger at him and should he stand still, he find it pressed hard against his sternum. "What the fuck are you doing here! You following me through the woods now, mountain orc?" She growled in harsh Orcish, still not convinced the elf couldn't understand them. Just for safe measure, she rolled her words hard to throw him off.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Mountain orc?" he challenged, not giving an inch. "Closer to the savanna than the mountains here. And I did not..."

He paused, a deep set frown on his face. Hath scratched at one sideburn and that look slowly melted away. For a large orc he managed to look vaguely sheepish.

Hath was broader than when he had first met Lagakh. Since then he had travelled far and wide, fought more blight orcs, humans, kobalds and even demons. He had become quite proficient at killing, rather than just hunting for food.

"Well I did follow you, but only from the road back that way!" he admitted. "Why are you chasing elves? That's not a good idea here!"

 

[Lagakh]

She didn't give two shits about whether he was from the literal savanna or the mountains. She found him hiding in the rocks on a mountain side, he was a Mountain Orc.

"That's none of your business!" She growled in orcish as she felt Charosh turn diffident. "I know where I'm going, but now you're here and there's no safe way back..." Her finger retracted from his sternum, clearly torn between feeling inconvenienced and feeling some modicum of concern that he followed in a wake that he should have avoided.

These were foothills transplanted into the flats, roamed eagerly by many tribes of elven parties. They moved quietly and without any easy means of tracking. They were ghosts, loosing their arrows joyously with a whistle and picking the bones clean of things to barter at nearby settlements.

"L'antha..." The elf uttered, not having moved for clear fear of the orc's anger. "L...l'antha is a surname, yes?"
"I don't know." She moved harshly back to common, eyes sternly promising Charosh that this conversation wasn't finished. Looking over her shoulder, she shrugged. "I said figure it out."

"L'antha is a common surname for a lower reigning family in Fal'Addas...there is no one by the name of Thkai but...but Kai is very possible. We don't often pronounce those first two letters so...harshly."

She was getting a lesson in linguistics and it was starting to char her sense her decency. She breathed out and turned her gaze back to Charosh. A gaze that had softened, though only subtly. Inhaling, Laga crossed her arms over her leather tank top and eyed the man. "You got any rope?"

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath was looking between Lagakh and the elf she had captured. Other than the elf mincing around with words and Lagakh getting exceedingly frustrated he did not follow much of the conversation. They were talking about names for some reason.

Hath dropped a small pack to the ground. He dropped to one knee and reached inside, pulling out a small length. He tried to keep some rope around, but then he also tried to keep a spear. He did not have one of those now. What he carried was determined by how much he had gathered since the last occasion he had been forced to drop his belongings in flight.

"If we run north you could leave this place," he said. "Elves are quick, but skinny little buggers tire quickly."

And then, just in case the elf knew orcish, he added: "Taste good if you cook the meat lightly though."

 

[Lagakh]

Her eyes narrowed into jagged bits of anthracite. How could he be so dense, she thought, to not realize what she was? The small stature, the reduced tusk size, ear shape, and predilection towards magic. She would admit that she hadn't been entirely forthcoming with this particular companion but, in her experience, her sort of blood mixing wasn't looked highly upon.

Perhaps that's why she worked so hard to drain it from herself.

"I'm not leaving until I find this...l'antha." She uttered as she forced the correct pronunciation. Taking the rope coldly out of Hath's hand, not intent on giving the joke anymore attention, she turned back towards the elf and started binding his hands.

"I can't turn back now..." She responded back in Orcish, fairly certain that the elf had no ear for it. "I did not come this far to only come this far."

 

[Hath Charosh]

It was difficult to tell when Hath was joking or not. In this case he had not been. In his mind they were best served by running until any elves gave up the chase.

Hath didn't come any closer to the elf, but the elf watched him carefully. Perhaps he knew the word 'cook.'

"Why have you come all this way to find an elf, mountain orc?" he asked. This time he was joking when he emphasised the word mountain.

He saw the elven in Lagakh, but this was so very far from where she had been born. There had to be a story behind her travelling so far.

Then again, he reflected, he had been in the Spine just to climb mountains.

 

[Lagakh]

She smirked, shaking her head, as she bound the elf's offered hands.

"I would like to know as well..." The elf responded, trying to stretch out his fingers but finding the bindings were restricting movement. He grimaced and furrowed his brow, examining her scars. "Is it because of those-Ow!" He recoiled as she cinched the binding harshly, digging into his skin.

"We are not friends, elf!" She gnawed on the words like it was a bit of under-cooked meat. Giving him a cold stair, she dropped the rope with a shove and stood.

"Come with me, find out." She turned back towards Charosh. "And in the mean time, you can tell me what the hell has happened to you."

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath cast another glance around at the woods. They unsettled him. Centuries of tales crafted by elves to keep the orcs out had become part of his culture. He was content to follow her, for now. Whether that continued depended a great deal on where Lagakh was planning to go next.

"A lot has happened," he replied. Hath did not understand that she could sense the remains of the demonic presence that had bound itself to him in Pandemonium. Hath did not like to spare too much thought for that time. Much of it was hazy, especially when it tried to influence his thoughts.

 

[Lagakh]

There was a length of rope left over from the binding and when Laga stood, she yanked it hard. It was the most convincing and least violent manner she could think of to persuade the elf to walk. He gave in with a groan, staggering to a stand and leaning over.

"You know the way?" She stated neutrally, crimping the rope between her hand and her hip.
"To Fal'addas?"

She didn't answer.
He responded nervously with a nod of his head. She nodded back. "Well move on then."

Grimacing, he edged forward and walked to the length of his rope. Laga took a moment to pull various supplies from the other unconscious elfs. "A lot of steps between here and the end, I'm sure we'll have time to discuss all of your accolades...and that shadow following you around." She stated in orcish, pointing towards the deer that had been knocked loose from spit roast stands.

"Might be worthwhile to bring along. Could get hungry along the way."
She turned towards the elf. "Oye, through the woods. We're not walking along the road."

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath immediately looked down at his shoulder. The scarring of the flesh would never heal, but it was no so remarkable compared to his other scars. Ignatius had been able to sense it. Hath did not like the idea that other mages could still sense the taint on him.

Taking a step towards the spit, which he had planning on taking anyway, he shook his head at Lagakh.

"You cannot be thinking of marking to the middle of the woods with a trussed up elf?" he asked. "They would skin you alive."

 

[Lagakh]

Actually she was thinking exactly that. But she didn't quite find Hath's tone complimentary of the idea, so she didn't vocalize it. She just yanked at the elf's binding to keep him from continuing forward.

"Ow!" He yelped.

"They might find it easier to shave skin from a stone..." She rebutted, eyeing him as he went about the spit roast. Placing her free hand thoughtfully on her hip, she pressed her tongue between the corner of her mouth and her tusk. "But if you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

The words were true in a literal and figurative sense. After all, she wasn't above self-deprecation.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath slowly turned towards the north and pointed.

"We go that way, we eat the deer and if we are still hungry we eat the elf. And then we never come this far south again. Elves don't let orcs barge into that city."

He said this with a degree of authority that he did not hold. His people had been warned away from the elven lands only a few times, but those stories snowballed through the generations.

"What's this elf done that's so bad that you'd come all this way?"