Private Tales Don't go into the woods

[Lagakh]

Charosh would have all his answers and more once Laga was done tearing him a new asshole for walking off into the dark without waking her. If they survived this, that is.​

​

She felt all her strength escape her as the lights flickered within the contours of her scars. She hadn't recovered from the days prior use and the attack with the driftwood had taken everything left. And even more defeating was the fact that it apparently did very little to the raging bear.​

​

She winced, grinding her teeth as she fell to her knees. Clutching her arm, she gripped at it painfully. It felt like the wound wasn't superficial, but more something festering and crawling out. She had known the pain of infection. There was a particular scar carved against her left buttocks that had not healed properly, taking on the shape of the Isles of Sheketh when it was supposed to look like a solid bar. This pain was far worse than that.​

​

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, releasing nothing. Yet it seemed to make everything better. At least for the moment.​

​

Suddenly, following the slightest whistle in the air, another arrow was sticking out of the bears rump. Then another. Laga opened her eyes to find an elf on the trees, high above, and several dwarves on the ground. Their axes were raised high as they hollered at the bear, drawing its attention. Laga couldn't see it, but they wore a very particular insignia across their tabards. A shovel crossing a hatchet, over a barrel filled with flames.​

​

The Queteth Consortium. Timber harvesters and miners, they raped the land without concern for consequences. The Orc-hybrid could only imagine what they had done to cause such a curse upon the forest.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Seeing Lagakh fall to her knees, he knew that he would have to draw the beast away. It was mostly blinded, lashing out at the trees in the tight group it had charged into. Lagakh must have drawn too deeply from her magic. Or perhaps she was simply losing blood fast from her arm.

His mind raced, searching for some way to tempt it further away without getting torn apart.

He heard the bowstring before he saw the fletchings sticking proudly up from the bear's back like a flag. More joined it and then he caught sight of the elves and dwarves.

"Shit," he grumbled, running a wide arc to take him towards Lagakh. Most of the dwarves were formed up, but one was approaching Lagakh from behind.

Hath charged past her and came to a halt, swinging his axe down from his back. Standing between the dwarf and the shaman, he snarled a warning.

 

[Lagakh]

The dwarves watched the big Orc move between them and the she-orc. They batted their hands with the shafts of their weapons, be it pickaxes, double sided axes, hatchets, or the blunt edge of a cutlass. "We ain't here for you, big tooth." One of the dwarves replied as they moved in unison.​

​

Not against Charosh or Laga, but towards the beast. It was making another run.​

​

"Alright boys, ferking get it!" The obvious leader, grey maned and gray beard, turned towards the stampeding bear. It was blind and heavily wounded. Corroded might have been the more appropriate word. But it was still dangerous as sin and the dwarves gave it proper justice. "Don't let it ferking get ya!" He yelled, tumbling to the left as the beast charged by, loosing his axe into its side. ​

​

Two more arrows pierced its back, just along its spine, and the elf wasn't done yet.​

​

"H-h-h-here..." The one that had approached Laga held out a hand. A bandage hung loosely from his palm, aimed towards Charosh. It smelled terribly of turpentine and was flecked with petals of yarrow. "Tie it tight around her arm, above the wound. We must stop the infection or she'll lose the arm." The dwarf pushed up his spectacles. "Please hurry."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

It was hard to feel threatened by the dwarf holding out the bandage. If Hath were to lash out now it would be through fear, not anger.

He let Biter hand by his side and reached out to take the bandage. The rest of the dwarven brigade paid the orcs no heed, charging off into battle.

Hath turned back towards Lagakh, keeping his eye on the battle. He lost direct sight of it, but could see the silhouettes through the branches. The beast had reared up on its hind legs, but dwarves with weapons held high came in from all sides.

"Hey, come on," he said to Lagakh. He dropped his axe beside her and started tying the bandage tight. The acrid smell offended his nose. "We need to get the fuck out of here."

 

[Lagakh]

Laga growled as the bandage was tied down and yelped as it was cinched tight. Wincing and closing her eyes tight, she fought back tears as the pain coursed up and down her arm like a stallion running a race track.​

​

"Uhhh...I wouldn't, Sir Orc." The dwarf responded, clearly evesdropping. Adjusting his glasses once more, he shook his head and ringed his hand. "That's a curse, Sir Orc. A nasty nasty one. Put out by a crone a ways back." His short arm shot out in the northern direction. "She was none too pleased about our mining efforts, yelled from on high is what she did. On my honor…"​

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"Your honor!" Laga managed out from teeth clenched so hard, she felt she was on the verge of breaking bones. "This...is your fault!"​

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"Not mine, Lady Orc. Not mine." He held a hand over his chest. "On my honor. But if you run now and let that run its course…" He pointed to the wound. " She'll be no better than that bear running about, two days time. Seen it on another dwarf with me own two eyes. Not pretty, not pretty at all."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath turned to follow the sounds of battle. Lagakh had only just decided to trust his motivations. He didn't not want to be faced with the prospect of killing her himself.

If he even could. If that thing had been a normal bear then he would be entirely outmatched by whatever Lagakh became.

"Your honor means fuck all to me," Hath spat. "So speak plainly. What can be done to stop the infection?"

He had advised told not to run away, but that answer had not been offered so freely.

 

[Lagakh]

The dwarf paused and reflected, though he didn't do it quietly. Nervously ringing his hands, he stammered to the sound of the bear running through the forest. In the distance, the noise stopped and Laga almost imagined she heard celebrations.​

​

"Not infection Sir Orc, not an infection at all. Corruption." His words dropped to a whisper, as if saying the word any louder might make the onset worse. "Devilish corruption. Quite devilish…"​

​

He drew another lengthy pause as he looked down towards Laga, critically inspecting the wound. "The only way I know of treatment is to remove the wound. Uhhh...remove the limb. Remove the corruption. And then burn it."​

​

Laga groaned as she used Charosh to stand up, sweat dripping down her face. "You touch this fucking arm, you imp, and I'll beat you to death with it." It remained to be seen whether that mean before or after dismembering.​

​

The dwarf blanched and took a step back. "A-a-a-poligies Lady Orc. It's the only way I know how. M-m-maybe Grandir, our leader, might know of another route."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath looked down at the head of his axe and wondered if he would be forced to do the worst. Orcs were tougher than the other races. He knew several orcs who had lost hands and limbs. If she was half elf it stood to reason in his mind that the fragility she inhereted might make her more likely to bleed out.

"Where is he?" Hath demanded. "Should we cut out the wound and burn it now?"

Lagakh already looked drained. He couldn't tell if that was purely from overusing her magic, from the wound or this corruption that was supposedly now spreading.

Hath shifted his axe to his left hand, further from Lagakh. Stooping down he wrapped an arm around her back to prop her up, taking most of her weight. He offered her a short glance, trying not to let too much of his concern bleed through.

"Where is Grandir?"

 

[Lagakh]

There was shuffling that could be heard nearby. A trail of torches glittered in the distance, like stars revealed after a passing cloud, and came into quick view for the two orcs and the dwarven physician. "No, no don't do that." It wasn't clear whether the physicians response was for his own sake or for Laga's, though the she-orc imagined that it simply didn't matter so long as the results were the same.

At the head of the serpent column of torches burning through the woods, a large dwarf stood and elucidated his presence for the three by clearing his throat. He was so large, in fact, that Laga wasn't convinced that he wasn't just a portly and short human. But as the light grew closer, his countenance gave away his heritage. A substantial nose, grey eyebrows that seemed to cover half his face, a beard that ran down to the center of his chest, and unequally proportioned arms. Far far thicker than what a human of that size would have.

"Uhh...Grandir?"
"Yes, lad. Go one." The man responded to the physician, ignoring the larger orc and paying critical attention to the writhing she-orc.
"She says she won't have the arm removed. Won't have it cut."
"I see lad, I see."

Grandir wasn't wearing the normal fair of miner or timber harvester. Instead, his clothing was more congruent with that of druids or perhaps even a wizard. A large pointed hat, sweeping robes of green linens and hides, and a waist belt with a buckle fashioned of copper and gold, in the symbol of an acorn.

He swept his hand to one of the men behind him. "Hucknar, go fetch me the herbs and bark trim."
"Aye..." The pig nosed dwarf responded. "Which ones, Grandir? Which ones?"
"Yes yes. Uhh...willow bark, winter cherry stems, echinacea blossoms, licorice leaves, and uhh..." He helped up a finger and smiled. "A garlic bulb for flavor. Go on now, fetch it and the pestle. Oh and please remember the chamomile as well."

The pig faced dwarf was off. Far behind them, the dwarves and elf were heaving the carcass of the bear back through the trail it carved in the woods.

Finally, Grandir looked towards the large orc and gestured towards a particular area of ground that was softened by moss. "Please, lay her down. We must elevate her feet in preparation for the poultice. Tamil..." He leveled a gaze back towards the physician. "When Hucknar returns, please grind up the ingredients. And lets practice some haste, shall we lad? No need to dawdle."

 

[Hath Charosh]

The size of the dwarf didn't matter to Hath's directionless anger. He knew that picking a fight wasn't going to make anything better. It wasn't going to heal Lagakh, and given that the dwarves had handily defeated the corrupted bear it wasn't going to go well for him.

All his nervous energy needed an outlet. Too many bad habits from the demonic corruption. Sometimes he imagined it was still there, like a heat through his veins, pulsing out from the old scar.

"Are you healing, cooking her a meal or rubbing her feet?"

Despite his words Hath still helped Lagakh limp towards the patch of open ground and helped ease her down. All his grumbling mattered for nothing when there were no other options ahead of him.

"You still with us?" he grunted in orcish.

 

[Lagakh]

She grunted as he set her down on the soft moss. The ache was clearly pinpointing at the wound site but it felt like it was on fire, breathing and gasping beneath her skin. But even more precisely, she felt the pain most fiercely in her joints. Her elbow, wrist, and the rotator cuff.​

​

Reaching up with her free hand, she pressed a her thumb and finger against Charosh's chin. Whether she was pinching skin or his unkempt beard, it didn't matter so long as he got the clear message.​

​

"If I pass out..." She growled back in harsh Orc, almost bestial. "Don't let them take the arm." It wasn't a matter for her with the pain or with loss of the limb. If it would have resolved the pain, she would have been glad to be free of the arm. And she would have no problem fighting with one arm so long as her magic held out. But that was the rub. It wouldn't.​

​

To lose her arm would be the same as trying to cast a spell without having the full incantation. She would be useless and fragile, just a standard orc.​

​

"We aren't taking your arm, lass..." Grandir responded and approached, leaning down and bunching up some logs beneath Lagas bare legs. She didn't resist it. He looked up at them and waved dismissively. "You're people teem across this landscape. It behooves to know the language." He sighed as stood back up. "Don't let her fall asleep. She passes out before we stave the corruption, it will run roughshod on her system. Can't bloody well do much for her then, now can we?"​

​

He turned back and got to setting up a fire. Without disclosing it, he was decidedly focused on improving the light as they applied the poultice.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

It did not matter that he might have thought that losing the arm would be better than corruption. It was her decision to make. Even if it meant he might have to swing his axe for her neck rather than her shoulder in the end.

This, he decided, was a thoroughly shitty morning. His concern had been that they would cross paths wirh an elven scouting party who loosed arrows first and didn't bother to ask any questions at all of orcs.

Lagakh had a tight grip on his arm, but he felt it almost slip away. Whether that was because she was falling asleep or just exhausted didn't matter to Hath. He still gripped her shoulder tightly and growled at her.

"Stay awake."

He would have added and don't leave me with these fucking dwarves but apparently they spoke orcish.

"What are you doing?" Hath asked them.

 

[Lagakh]

Grandir didn't immediately answer. And when he finally did, it was strictly in the non verbal sense. As he built up the small wooden structure, he rang his hands together and held his calloused palms outward. With a murmured incantation, the wood burst into a crackling blaze. It whispered and sizzled, still damp from the dew and water logged from rains several days past.​

​

The pig faced dwarf revealed himself, once more, and was encumbered with an earthen bowl in one hand and a stone dowel rod in the other.​

​

"Sorry Grandir, was mashing as I marched."​

"Aye. What have I said before?" Grandir stood from the fire, once more ignoring the large orc.​

"We must never mash and march." They said in unison.​

​

Grandir held out his hand and the bowl was offered, filled with an unknown volume of paste. Inspecting the contents, he dug the rod into the depth of the bowl, scraped around, a struck the shaft against the edge of the bowl. "That should do."​

​

Laga watched him, her eyes moving from Charosh to Grandir and the back to Charosh. She had seen herbal remedies before but she couldn't fight the suddenly seething notions of confusion.​

​

Grandir held out a hand to the fire and like a top tied to a snare of string, a bit of fire jumped from the pit and landed promptly in the bowl. Steam rose as the old dwarf furiously stirred and knelt next to Laga. Rummaging in the debris next to her, he pulled out a thick twig and brandished it. "Bite down."​

​

She growled in response and looked up towards Charosh. Grandir looked towards the large orc as well and offered him the bit of wood.​

​

"Lad, she doesn't bite down on this...she might break her teeth."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath watched carefully. He wouldn't have recognised a dark spell if it had all been laid out in front of him, but there were easier ways for the dwarves to kill them both now. His imagination didn't stretch as far as the thousand other things a dark mage could be motivated by.

Watching them work took his mind away from the horror he had seen. Even as a young boy he had enjoyed watching the shamans work on their forecast spells. Almost all of the young orcs had.

"I didn't know that dwarves knew any magic that didn't involve hitting things with hammers."

It was a small protest against events that he couldn't control, but he felt better for it.

"Bite the stick," he told Lagakh, holding it out. "Hold my arm, not my fingers."

 

[Lagakh]

"Oye can we ever clatter. You heard it right, Sir Orc. Devilishly so." The pig nosed dwarf responded, standing over Grandir's shoulder and watching the activity intently. Grandir waved him away dismissively. "Go away now, Hucknar. Make use of yourself. Get the iron in the fire and get some food charring. Could use with a bit of distracting." He snapped his fingers. "Some boar bacon would do the heart good, I say."​

"Ah yes, Grandir. Wonderful idea."​

​

And that was all it took to get the dwarf on his way. Meanwhile, Laga had hesitantly lifted her head to clamp down on the piece of wood. Nestled sternly between her teeth and cradled against her tusks, she was perpetually stuck in a glowering expression. An expression that once plopped back down, she leveled fiercely towards the dwarf.​

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"Alright lass...chin up now. It's all down hill from here."​

​

Dipping his calloused hands into the bowl, he scooped out a thick heaping of the paste. It was still steaming and was as black as the night, maybe even blacker. Laga winced as the bandage was pulled back and the paste was applied. On Charosh's request, she held on to his arm. At first there was hardly a sensation beyond the pressure of the dwarves hand. And then her eyes pinned as the paste seeped into the wound and all but disappeared.​

​

Her hand tightened down like a vice grip on Charosh's arm as she let out a stifled scream, muffled by the piece of wood. She kicked hard to the right, landing a hard blow against the dwarves haunch. He yelped and dropped the bowl, placing both hands on the wrist of her wounded arm.​

​

"Oye boys, someone grab her legs! She's bucking hard!" He screamed as he watched the wound critically. By all accounts, the job was being done. The wound grew red hot, like a coal fire deep in the dwarven mines, and steam rose from her arm.​

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"Not you, Hucknar!" Grandir waved at him as Laga kicked him square in the ass again. Another rushed forward and just as he got his hands around her ankles, she kicked him hard beneath the jaw and sent him falling backwards. It was lights out for that one.​

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"Fuck me." Grandir looked over and then back at the she-orc. "Come on, Lass! Control yourself!" ​

 

[Hath Charosh]

It turned his stomach to see how much pain she was in. The worst he had suffered was having an arrow pulled free from the bone. That had taken four large orcs pinning him down. When they had stopped cutting into him he had thought the worst was over.

It had turned out that he had been quite wrong and that twisting and yanking an arrowhead free was in fact the worst part.

Hath took the grip on his arm stoically, despite being fairly certain that he would soon lose feeling in his arm.

"Lagakh," he said firmly, leaning over her. He tried to turn her attention towards him. "Stop breaking the dwarves."

He pushed his knee forwards and placed his weight on her nearest thigh. With his free hand he dug his fingers into her other thigh just above the knee and pressed down. He certainly couldn't stop he writhing from his position, but at least he could reduce her movements.

Assuming she didn't punch him out with her other hand, despite the wounds she had suffered.

 

[Lagakh]

The feeling of the tar was worse than anything she had ever known or could recall. It seeped into her like her bones were being scraped by a jagged knife, loosening the skin and the tendons and ligaments. She was convinced that very soon, wounds would open up beneath the soles of her feet and in one instance, her skeletal structure would be yanked out and flung across the fire. There would be nothing left of her but muscles and tissues, devoid of structure.​

​

It felt like being flayed from the inside.​

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Her eyes flashed in a panic as she felt herself entirely pinned down. One quarter Grandir and three quarters Charosh. It only made sense that if she was going to blame someone, it would obviously be the Orc doing all the heavy lifting. But it wasn't sense and logic that drove her now, it was blinding pain and the sense of helplessness. This was beyond what she could have imagined.​

​

Her arm, held down by the dwarf, flexed. Her outstretched hand turned into a fist, the scars running up her arm turned a smoldering black and orange. The dwarf's hand seemed to loosen, as if the size of the arm had changed and he could simply no longer grasp all the way around it.​

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"Fuck me!" He stated quite firmly and resoundingly, letting go of her wrist in astonishment. "Lads, I've never seen anyt-" His words were cut off as she grabbed him by his vestments and with a single push, sent him flying into the fire. He hit Hucknar before he made it to the flames, rolling over and narrowly missing the iron wrought grate with the sizzling bacon. The physician dropped the bowl he had picked up, rhythmically working on the paste.​

​

"On my honor, she's gonna pop, she is."​

"Big Orc, let go of her..." Grandir scurried about but his message was too late.​

​

Laga didn't have enough room to cause serious damage but she reeled back anyway. And aimed a punch directly against the Orc's chest. ​

​

She wouldn't remember much else, the deep black would take her soon after that. Eyesight filled with buzzing black flies and stars. And then darkness.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath was glad that she didn't have enough room to throw a punch. Glad that his sternum was not shattered. As he rolled away the back of his head struck a dead branch. His vision span, a high pitched whine drowning out his hearing.

By the time he had slowly pushed himself back up to one knee Lagakh lay motionless, her tattoos fading. He crawled across the space between them, wheezing all the way.

He placed his hand firmly to her breastbone, not far from the spot she had just punched. Her breathing was still fast and shallow but her heart beat strong.

With a sigh of relief he rocked back and sat down beside her. At the dwarves warning he had been afraid some magic was going to make her burst.

"Did it work?" he asked bluntly.

 

[Lagakh]

Her stomach rose hard and dropped shallow, over and over again. The skin of her exposed midriff resonated with each strong beat of her heart. She laid motionless, sprawled across the moss with her legs still clumsily lifted by the bundle of sticks.​

Grandir didn't immediately answer. No one did. There was silence in the forest, accompanied by the spitting sounds of torches and fire. Of birds chirping, as if finally given permission to dance and flutter and attract opposite sexes in the ever constant bid for an affair. And there was the sound of smacking.​

Like lips smacking. ​

Grandir turned and found Hucknar at his side, half a piece of bacon jutting out from his puffed out lips. The old dwarf assumed the other half was somewhere between the pigged face's teeth and and his ass. "What?" He said, shrugging. "I eat when I'm nervous and boy, that fucking made me nervous."​

"I break out with ulcers in my mouth when I get nervous. On my honor." The physician opened his mouth and pointed, without any actual direction, towards his gaping maw.​

"Shut your traps, both of ya." Grandir finally responded, approaching the she-orc. "Aye your lady orc gave me a proper thrashing, she did." Grandir uttered, rubbing his rump and wincing. Kneeling down, he tapped her his knuckle.​

No response. He did it again. The same nothingness resounded.​

"Well she's not dead, Lad. Not dead by a long shot." He pointed with his stubby index finger. "Looks like its not progressing. But what damage is done...well, it's done."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

That last phrase could have many implications. Hath watched Lagakh sleeping and wondered what the dwarf could have meant. They had sealed the wound with some magically heated...stuff.

The wound had been deep into her arm. Hath had seen orcs with bite wounds that never fully healed. As if they were missing a whole chunk of an arm or leg. The skin just healed over a crater in muscle. None of them had ever seemed particularly hampered by the wounds, but he hadn't asked.

He did not want to consider what else the corruption may have done to her.

"Where is this bacon?" he asked, moving for the fire. He didn't bother to help up the dwarf who was still cradling his leg. If the scent of burned Lagakh flesh dampened his hunger it did not show.

"And what are you doing this far into elven forests?" he asked.

The elf had returned from the hunt, warming his hands over the fire. At the word 'elven' he cast a sideways glance towards Hath but did not deign to reply.

 

[Lagakh]

"Wouldn't you like to know..." Hucknar stated confidently, arms akimbo. Grandir waved him off with an offensive gesture that involved raking his fingernails from his throat up to his chin. Then gestured for him to sit down. ​

"Shut your gob, Huck. And grab the bacon. It's been a rough start for a day." Grandir admitted as he sat down on a stump, recently pulled from the nearby cleared forest. The very same was offered to any that wanted it. But the elf, that one seemed intent on standing and brooding in his own quiet.​

And the elf was peculiar in his own way. His hair was flaxen blond, his eyes were cold corn flower, and he had a feline appearance with unnaturally high cheekbones. Across his hairline, along the temple, there were a serious of tattoos that ran back and were hidden through his thick hair.​

"Well..." Grandir picked a piece of bacon from the sizzling iron with a stick, handing it to the Orc. "Oh, mind the grease. She's a fatty boar, this one. Now." He rolled his hand into a fist and coughed into it. "We be the Queteth Consortium..."​

"As indicated by our sigil." The physician uttered, inspecting his bacon.​

"Right." Grandir returned. "Scour is our business and until recently, business was going along quite swimmingly. Not a piece of timber or precious ore that was safe from our hands. That's the truth of it." He eyed the Orc before shoving half the piece of bacon in his mouth. "A few days back, we found ourselves in a treasure trove."​

"Gold and silver, veins of platinum that shined and twinkled with just the smallest flash of torchlight." Grandir stated with a bit of zest. "Diamonds and emeralds too, lapis azuli and rubies to boot." Hucknar spoke up and Grandir confirmed with a nod. "Right you are, Huck. But it seems, Sir Orc, that the cavern was inhabited. A sour old she-devil of a crone. Eyes bulbous, chin covered in warts and as long as my arm, and a hooked nose that could cut metal. I swear by it."​

He swore and shook his head. "The vulgarities coming out of this woman's mouth would make even the devils at Cerak blush, I swear by it. After she tossed a curse our way, as seen by the rampaging bear and your lady over there, she said...uhh, what did she say again?"​

"That you could take that pickaxe and shove it so far up your arse..." The physician stated, matter of factly. "That the next time you mined a cavern, you'd have to suck on the rocks to get at the stones."​

"Right." Grandir nodded in affirmation, staring off into the fire. "Doesn't even make that much sense, does it? Clearly I'd be dead if that pickaxe made it that far. Ahhh, devil woman I say."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath didn't follow the common human tongue when it was spoken quickly. He managed to piece together enough to understand the gist. Dwarves mining and cutting down trees. Pissed off witch with a curse.

Hath chuckled. Apparently he had put together the threat well enough in his head to find it amusing.

"Like the sound of this crone," he admitted. If it was her cave then what right did the dwarves have to what was inside? That was one question, but there was another that was burning away.

"You are close to elven lands to be cutting down trees. Makes me wonder..." Hath pointed a digit square at the elf, a scant few steps separated them. "...whstbthe fuck he is doing here."

"What? Quierell? He's our paid guide," Grandir replied, as if proud of the acquisition. The elf finally turned to set his gaze upon Hath. There was a warning there, but Hath was in no mood to heed it.

"I see. Sometimes an orc leads a group of humans from Vel Anir through our territory. We have a name for those traitors to their own kind. It is not a nice one."

This time the elf moved. It was almost a hint of motion rather than anything Hath could follow. A blur and a glimmering dagger was in his hand. There was little anger painted on his visage. A cool, calm and focused disdain. Hath snarled back at him.

"No! No. No more bloodshed. There's been enough of that! Quierell, put that away. And sir orc, on account of saving your mate and offering food I would think it polite not to insult my staff."

"Saved?" Hath asked, attention shifting quickly from the elf. "Way I see it you lot so stubborn that think was your fault. No?"

 

[Lagakh]

"We aren't blind, Orc." Quierell uttered in a whisper, hardly audible over the hum of the fire. Grandir looked up towards him with his beady black eyes, stroking his now grease coated beard. The silence indicated that the guide could go on.

"The iron of my arrow sunk deep into that bears hide but the fletchings did not blind me." His words came out delicate and almost imperial, as if he were trained in the heart of Elbion. But his intonations were odd and condescending, adding even more weight to his already clear overtones. "That Orc...your she-Orc...she stood in front of that bear like a mad woman. Didn't even get out of the way. Like she was stupid or infected with imbecility."

"Now Quierell, there's no reason to insult the she-Orc. She can't even defend herself..." Grandir stated firmly, leaning back and placing a hand on his knee.
"Insult or not, it is true. But you are right, of course. My apologies." Quierell turned to Charosh and sneered.

The fire licked angrily at the wrought iron as Grandir quickly jumped in at the chance to prevent another bit of verbal fencing between the elf and the orc.

"He's right, Sir Orc. Blunt but sincere. Oh sure, we may have conjured that Crones fury but it wasn't our hand that push your she-Orc in the way. Was her own doing by all accounts." He shook his head, stoking the fire. "Twas foolish of you to trust us, Sir Orc. We could have been brigands or worse, looking to ramshackle you or fetter you and carry you off to the closest mine. Can't trust no ones in this place. No one. Not by a long shot."

"Not by a long shot..." The physician shook his head, pushing up his spectacles. "But it's lucky you were there Grandir. It surpassed my skill sets. On my honor, magic is done and undone of its own accord."

"Mmm...luck." Grandir responded, looking back towards Charosh. "Luck brings good tidings and ill fortunes alike. Isn't that right, Sir Orc?"

 

[Hath Charosh]

It might have been Lagakh who had looked unconvinced that his corruption had fully left him, but it was a suspicion he kept himself. Even when a wound was gone he left behind a scar and he suspected he had been left irrevocably changed by the demon's presence.

He turned his shoulders square towards the elf, holding him in his contemptuous gaze. Grandir's question was left hanging in the air. Even as he held his gaze level he imagined the steps between them, the quickest way to stop the elf reaching for a blade.

These thoughts had nothing to do with a demon. The changes wrought by the last year were not all the fault of monsters from Pandemonium.

"She was asleep," Hath growled. "You unleash it, your fault. I don't trust you. But it was let you work on her arm or watch her die."

He left the moment hang. If nothing else escape the elf's lips he would slowly turn back towards the leader of the party. They had bacon, which was enough of a reason to stay by the fire but he was certain that he wanted to be far away from these dwarves as soon as possible.

If, as he suspected, the elf was a traitor to his own kind, then there was nothing for them here that would show them the way to Lagakh's father.

 

[Lagakh]

It could have been Quierell to respond. He had the look of a man preparing for a riposte, mentally thumbing through the various faults and divots within the offered logic. It could have been Grandir because he had a bit of sagacity to his tone, a way with words that made senseless things make sense. But it was neither of them who responded. Instead, Hucknar stood up and hocked, spitting a ball of phlegm into the dancing fire.

It sizzled and wheezed.

"A good bit of reasoning you got there, Sir Orc. Mayhaps that by your sound logic, we can reach back to the ends of the planet...to the formation of stars and precious stones? How about it? Instead of blaming this affliction on your she-Orc or on our troupe, we blame it on creation and call it a day?"

"Sit down, Huck." Grandir looked up and scolded the man with a disappointed expression. But Hucknar pretended to not notice.

"Maybe we can blame it on Grandirs mama and papa, maybe mine too. Maybe my pop shouldn't have laid with my mother and maybe my mother shouldn't have sat back, said yes to her third glass of cider? Huh? Maybe it's the ciders fault?"

"Enough Huck, for God's sake. Enough." Grandir waved at him, this time a bit more sternly. "You've made your point. Crudely and brash, but made all the same."
"We have some cider we could drink..." The physician piped in.
"It's not even morning." Quierell chimed in with his regal tone and accent.

Grandir admonished them with his silence, rubbing the brow of his fingers. "Sir Orc, you can lay blame all you'd like in places it don't belong. Free country so long as its free. Though I suppose that depends on the region...but it won't change the fact that the Crone said the words. The Crone spoke the curse. And as much as flies stick to shit, that Crone is all over that curse. Which means shes all over that she-Orc."