Private Tales Don't go into the woods

[Hath Charosh]

The dwarves seemed to be of the opinion that Hath's accusation was some form of riffle they needed to unpick and contest. As if he was interested in a sparring match of words.

Quierell offered one last derisive snort before looking away. A heartbeat of time where options branched out ahead of them. Hath looked back to the fire. With their attentions diverted, some of the tension between the orc and the elf bled away.

"Blame does not matter, not now," Hath stated. It just made him irate to see them try and sidestep it with words. At least they had tried to hunt down the creature they had unleashed.

"Do you say that the Crone has to be stopped to save her?" he asked. Hath straightened himself and fixed his gaze on their leader. He gave the impression that anything other than a straightforward answer was going to be taken badly.

 

[Lagakh]

Perhaps sensing that the Orc was growing tired with the conversation, Grandir diverted his eyes and played it off. Staring long and hard into the fire, he finished off the remains of his bacon and proceeded to lick the grease from each of his dirty fingers.​

​

"Aye..." He finally nodded, still not turning to face the orc. "I would say that's as good a place to start as any."​

​

"Is not but a days walk back in the other direction." The physician chimed in, uncorking the earthen demijohn and taking a swig of the cider. He had no reservations regarding drinking in the mourning or interrupting awkward silence. "A walking pace..." He stated with conviction, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "No horse nor mule pace, mind you. Just a brisk..." He burped and adjusted his spectacles. "Walking pace. Maybe a bit shorter or slower for a long legs like yourself."​

​

He was a dwarf and while they were built for stamina, their gait wasn't exactly impressive. One would imagine for every step from a large orc, it might equal two or three for a stout dwarf.​

​

"Aye..." Grandir replied. "Could be half a day." He pointed. "In the direction we came from. Won't be hard to find. Just follow the broken branches and upturned sod, peeled cleaned by that rampaging beast we ran down."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

They spoke too much. He didn't trust anyone who spent so many words saying so little. It was one thing to tell a story. Those needed embellishment, whether they told of great tales from the past or a personal achievement. They were entertainment for the fireside and also cementing one's place in the tribe.

Even if he could not follow the common tongue as well as he should have done he knew these dwarves waffled. They spoke around the matter like a bullfighter sticking to the fringes of danger. They were honest enough, but the truth came coated in layers of words.

"Can she be carried? And can I expect any more...things...to have been released by this crone?" he asked. Compared to the idea of walking into the elven capital, this was quite an easy decision.

 

[Lagakh]

"Can't rightly say, sir Orc..." Grandir muffled, scratching furiously at his long beard. After which, he proceeded to pick at the pieces of dirt and debris stuck beneath his fingernails. "She was a viper in all regards but appearance. Might be she is finished with us, might be she has just began."​

​

"If you carry her..." Quierrel piped up, surprisingly. "You likely won't be able to defend yourself should something else come your way. And that doesn't account for the veritable trap you've danced through." Grandir and Hucknar looked towards Quierrel while the physician cleaned his glasses, proceeding to inspect a carving on the ceramic demijohn as if it were some sort of unearthed ancient transcription.​

​

"Elven raiding parties and commando units, loyal or disloyal to Fel'Addas, have festooned these lands with traps. Crushing traps, pit falls, snares, legholds, conibears, and ambushes. Truly...I am surprised you two made it this far unscathed." There was nothing to indicate the elf wasn't being sincere.​

​

Grandir nodded and looked towards the Orc. "He's got the right of it, Sir Orc. It's the main reason we hired him. Well, for that and his fletchings." ​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Truly a marvel that they had come this far only for their fuck ups to put them in mortal danger. It was exactly the same as the sentiment he had made to Lagakh the previous day, but coming from the dwarves it irrationally annoyed him.

"Well, I'll be sure to step where the bear did then..." He grunted. He trusted his ability to picks his way through traps, even those hidden in the forest by elves. At least he would when he was not carrying wounded.

It was the roaming patrols he feared. His tribe was known to Faladdas elves. Usually one of his people hunting too deep in their lands was turned away. The Charosh had lived peacefully - in a manner of speaking - just beyond their territory for generations. This feel however, they might take swift action as a lesson.

Hath crossed his arms over his chest and turned square on to the elf once more. There was less of a threat in his stare.

"She needs to reach Fal'addas or at least get a message there when she is healed. Do you know the way?" he asked the elf directly.

 

[Lagakh]

The elf shook his head, sneering. "That is a foraging canal now. For beasts, animals, and commando parties. You might as well announce your presence to all of Fal'addas if you intend to take that route."​

​

"Mmm..." Grandir nodded. "It made one hell of a racket, that beast. Quierrel has the right of it. In earnest, Sir Orc, we lot likely aren't even safe here for long. Just enough for a quick breath and then on our way." He stopped in his tracks, as if suddenly aware of what Charosh's intent was.​

​

"Maybe you were right, Sir Orc. Back then when you said it was our fault. Or at least partly. The safest bet is for us to help you return to the crone. And if you get her to release her curse or worse..." He trailed off, leaving the implication of demise on the air. "Well then it never hurts to benefit doubly from an arrangement. Tell you what, Sir Orc..."​

​

Grandir slapped his thigh. "Help us with this Crone, get that cursed removed and free up the land for our toil...and I'll pay for Quierrel's fee to guide you to Fal'addas. Sounds like a benefit to us both, it does."​

​

Quierrel didn't respond. It could likely be taken that he had no qualms with the announced arrangement.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

The demon might have been gone but Hath was still quick to anger. They spoke too much, they had brought on the curse that had nearly claimed them. They made an offer and yet it still felt as if he was being used. He couldn't imagine them letting him borrow there elven guide for a journey to the city.

If they did not lift the curse, then he supposed there would be no reason to continue on alone. Hath could not even remember the make of the elf who may have been her father. It was a macabre thought, but orcs in the wild couldn't shy away from such things. Death was everywhere.

"Fine."

---

The dwarves had barely settled down so they packed up omand got on the move quickly. He ignored any offers of help and carried Lagakh himself. She was made of stern stuff. Of she had to be dropped because he needed to fight then...well those bruises would be attributed to the bear too.

"Lagakh?" he tried softly as they walked. It would make life a lot easier if she wasn't a dead weight, he thought to himself.

 

[Lagakh]

She woke to a gait that wasn't her own. Without opening her eyes, she sighed heavily and felt the resounding ache from her arm. It wasn't fire, not as it had been before. Now, it stood more as a lingering burn that needed tender care and the lightest of touches. That wounded arm rested against her stomach, curled inward and protected, as her other was wrapped around Charosh's neck and provided very little support or assistance in the carrying of her dead weight.​

"Mountain Orc..." She responded in Orcish, through grit teeth. "D...did it work?" The treatment, though the question was vague. She was content to know her arm still remained tethered to the trunk. Vowing to hate Charosh over something not entirely his fault seemed unfair but a promise was a promise, no matter how hard it would have been to swallow.​

And she needed both of her arms to be her.​

"Where...are we going?" A sense of exhaustion and frustration permeated her, seeping into every word. She hated dependency.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath offered her as warm a smile as his face could manage. She was relatively lucid, which he took to be a good sign.

"You're awake to ask the question," he offered by way of reply. "And your arm is still attached. We are going to find the Crone who unleashed the curse."

He slowed his pace to pick through a serious of fallen branched that blocked the path. Over the last few minutes he had caught sight of that elf every now and again, leading the way. Behind them was the troupe of dwarves, as noisy as ever. The trampled through the branches without slowing.

"How do you feel?"

 

[Lagakh]

Despite herself and despite what one would have expected, knowing full well the prideful independence that Laga exuded, she didn't entirely mind being carried by the larger Orc. While her arm didn't hurt to the same degree as before, the exhaustion was nearly overwhelming. The ache spread through her as if she had been awake for multiple days, stuck on a long trek without the cover of shelter to foster rest.​

​

"Crone..." She whispered, flexing the fingers of her wounded arm. "Curse?"​

​

She tilted her head away from the Orc and towards the path they were moving. It was dense forest, far removed from the path carved by the bear, and there were beings in front of her. Or she was seeing multiple. It was difficult to tell.​

​

Memories that preceded her loss of consciousness came in waves, like paintings carved against a cavern wall and occasionally illuminated by a patching torch. "Did I hit you?" She breathed out, the confusion quite clear. "I am...tired. Charosh. Too tired to be angry." She turned back, pressing her head against his shoulder. "But there is anger in here, more than normal. I can feel it."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath sighed. He knew that feeling all too well. Something slithering in the depths and swelling the anger in your gut. A dark insidious thing that took its time reveling itself. Hath might have been infected by a demonic presence rather than a crone's curse but he could sympathise.

"You did hit me, but nothing broke so you didn't have your heart in it," he replied. "Do you remember the bear...thing that attacked?" he asked.

 

[Lagakh]

She exhaled, sighing in relief. It wasn't that she was entirely bothered about hitting Charosh. In fact, she had sworn to do that and more when she awoke to find him not nearby. It was that had she hit him, which she had, it was entirely out of her control. Laga was tired but she felt the inherent power in the corruption that had embraced her arm and nearly threatened its removal.​

​

"I do..." She nodded, looking down at her arm. "But not much after that. Once it got me, things went a bit...dark." There was no better way to describe it. She could recall the lighting in the forest with the moon on full display. But the idea of biting down on a piece of wood as medicines were applied was like a distant object, plunged deep beneath murky waters.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

"That is probably for the best," Hath replied bluntly. Even if it hadn't been for the corruption, the mind had a way of glossing over the worst memories. It prevented them from becoming stumbling blocks in the road map of the mind.

"We are going to find the source of the curse. I am going to attempt to have the crone who cast it stop. One way or another. And then I have found you a guide to take us to the city of Fal'addas."

Hath didn't say this with any hint of pride in his tone. In fact he was quite solemn about the task ahead. A witch who could bring that kind of dangerous magic to bear was liable to be stubborn.

"We are still with the dwarves," he said. This time he was perfectly expressive in his disdain. "I'm going to set you down soon and go thr last of the way to the crone."

 

[Lagakh]

She didn't have the cognitive function to understand the term of 'us,' and how despite finding a guide for the trek, Charosh was still inclined to come with her.​

​

As he set her done, she was surprised by how surefooted she felt. The pain seemed to throb and slowly dissipate, as if distracted by the sudden swell of gravity and the need to stand on her own.​

​

"And you expect that you'll go alone?" She took a deep breath and stood up straight, eyeing the Orc. "And that I won't resist that?" She didn't like the use of the term crone, largely because it spoke very little to motivation. Witches and sorceresses were all of a similar and self-centered mindset. Battlemages, like herself, were inclined towards a certain stubborn yet goal oriented path. But crones?​

​

Boredom and time were their allies. And formidable allies they could be.​

​

"Aye lass, you're upright already? That tar gave that bit of sickness a proper thwacking, if I do say so myself." Grandir approached from the tail of the convoy, eyeing Laga with a discerning expression. "No need to thank me Lass, it was all just for the good of it all."​

​

She had no intent on thanking him. Based on the general tone of the Mountain Orc, this man was somehow at fault for her ailments and, by her measure, at fault for their current route.​

​

"You're not going to the crone alone." She said, ignoring Grandir and looking towards Charosh.​

"Wouldn't advise that, lady Orc." The physician piped up and Laga felt a certain pang of irritation.​

"I don't give two shits what you advise-" She pointed a finger towards Grandir, stopping him from jumping off the verbal ledge he was approaching. "And if you say one more word about sickness or what I should be doing, I'll make what that bear did look like child's play." She looked back towards Charosh.​

"I'm going with you."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath shrugged. He had little in the way of a strong opinion on the matter. If she felt she was able to come with him then that was up to her. He also felt a tug towards doing anything that went against the dwarf's advice.

Every sentence that left his flapping lips annoyed him until he started to suspect that the demonic presence was back. Because surely his own temper could not be frayed so easily be a group of talkative dwarves...

"That way?" Hath asked Grandir, pointing ahead.

"Aye, but yer better off tracking east and then trying to sneak in from..."

"I am going to walk straight in and knock on the door."

"I would nay advise you to..."

"I understand," Hath cut him off.

The two orcs walked through the pack of dwarves. One of them had already started unpacking the food. They were watched carefully, but it was the elf whose shrewd gaze never left them as they walked away.

Hath walked ahead, pushing the vines out of their way. He kept his axe slung across his back and his bow unstrung.

"I am going to try and talk first. Perhaps this one is reasonable and the dwarves are wholly to blame." It sounded far too simple, even as he said it.

Hath did not even recognise the house at first. A gentle slope of grass rose fromnthe ground and covered the entire house. It would have made it almost impossible to see from any distance.

He walked up to what he thought must have been a front door and knocked.

 

[Lagakh]

Laga followed in Charosh's wake, not concerned with who greeted the crone first. So long as the matter was sorted out, she had little opinion on the general route it took. This turn of events, with the corruption, had become decidedly even more complex than an already complicated route towards finding her absent father.​

The door hardly moved as Charosh boomed against it, through the noise did echo aimlessly through the woods. It was as if they weren't knocking purely for the hovel of a home, but for the rest of the forest to boot. Laga winced, rubbing her wounded arm almost instinctively as she waited for something to happen.​

A few moments passed and the nothing occurred. "You think if..." The bone club was in her hand and she gestured towards the door. "Hit a bit harder? Maybe the crone will come out?"​

The door shifted as if iron was moving behind the wooden frame. A lock and a latch disengaged and the wooden door swung open. Before them, it was hardly what Laga would have considered a crone by typical definitions. The woman was tall, standing somewhere in height between Charosh and her. She was donned in a long lavender dress, with gold embroidery, that clung to her ever apparent curves and was cinched by a black belt tied loosely at the waist. No hat, no long nose, no giant warts or broomsticks or round hats.​

She was just...a tall woman.​

"Crone?" The woman hissed, words as sharp as they were velvet. "Is that what the caravan is calling me now? Listen..." She pointed finely painted nails towards Charosh. "You put another ding in my door and I'm going to turn that axe of yours into a slinking singing companion with a dull edge and absent tone." She crossed her arms over her plunging neckline, looking out into the woods with eyes of vibrant violet. "Where is that dwarf? Maybe once that axe is singing, I'll shove it up his ass. Might improve his disposition."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Erm," went Hath. He sighed rather impolitely. He had half expected to find the situation far removed from the way the dwarves had spun it, but he had not expected it to start with his mental image of 'crone'. The woman had an ethereal grace, probably close to a human's perception of perfection.

"My friend was infected by this corrupted...thing. We have no stake in your...fight...with the annoying dwarves. I would like your magic taken away."

Times like these he wished he knew more of the common tongue. He had typically only needed it to trade. Negotiating the dispute between a dwarven mining clan and a witch required a finesse he could barely manage in his own language.

A curse wasn't something that was usually broken by killing the spellcaster, otherwise there would have been a much easier solution to their problems.

 

[Lagakh]

The crone's arms unfolded from her chest and as she offered her hand, palm upwards, she snapped her fingers. A bit of dust and sparks sprouted from her enameled finger tips and the lightest breeze could be felt, cutting across the slanted roof of her hovel.​

​

"There..." The words escaped her full lips in orcish, as if she had spoken the language since birth and pulled the concern directly from the Orcs mind. "Now we can speak freely, yes? Now."​

​

She crossed her arms again.​

​

"My fight? Corruption? What sort of fairy tale has that old dwarf been spinning?" She stifled a laugh, as if stuck somewhere between disbelief and the recognition that this was exactly what the dwarf would do.​

​

"I was attacked by a bear. We both were. It struck me and now..." Laga lifted her arm. "It's..."​

"In you?" The crone nodded. "Next time a comet comes your way, perhaps you shouldn't stand your ground? Hmm? And you imagine that this is my fault?"​

"By Grandir's words, it is."​

​

The cool and calculated expression of the crone turned into a harsh sneer. "Oh, that bastard spun one up...didn't he. Truly, I figured him bold but to pin this on me?" She shook her head. ​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath let that sink in for a moment. The notion that the dwarf was lying did not phase him in the slightest. They did not seem like trustworthy people at all. His trust would also not easily be extended to a sorceress who lived alone deep in the woods.

He squared off his shoulders towards the sorceress, but stopped just short of what could have been taken as a bristle. He didn't like being threatened like that, but the demon was gone now. When there was so much at stake he could not lot every perceived slight touch a nerve.

"I am willing to accept that everything that dwarf said was a lie. I would like to know what caused that corruption in that thing and whether you can help remove it from Lagakh."

He kept one eye on the sorceress as he turned across his shoulder towards Laga. He did not want to speak on her behalf, but that seemed to cut to the matter.

 

[Lagakh]

Laga didn't have a particular preference in how this conversation was guided, so long as someone was having it. She interpreted a bit of irritation in the larger orc and felt the crone bristle in response.​

​

"Ah. And you expect that I will just go about helping you, freely? That I will provide you information when you have been led here with duplicity? Your statement is but a stones throw from a command, derivative as it may be. And I do not fare well in such circumstance."​

​

Laga narrowed her expression towards the Crone and took a step forward. A shine of red ran the course of her scars, from head to toe, and deflected black through the wounded arm. "I don't give two shits in which circumstance you fare well. This is someones fault and it surely isn't ours. I didn't come thousands of miles to be stopped here by a bear and this infernal corruption."​

​

"Why did you come here, Battlemage?" She paused to catch Laga's almost imperceptible change in expression. "Ah yes, I sniffed you, that bone club, and your friends ax out from a mile away. If you had any sense of control over your power, it's surely gone with that rampaging beast."​

​

"That's none of your business." The battlemage spoke through clenched teeth, wracked with irritation over request. To her surprise, the crone nodded.​

​

"You are right. It's not. As for helping you...that's also not my business. But I suppose we can discuss the matter further inside." She stepped to her side and waved inward. "Come in, away from prying eyes...and ears." Her eyes lifted to spot an elf, standing in the trees above.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath spared the elf one final glance as he stepped inside. The crone talked too much as well. As far as he was concerned most people talked too much, but there had been enough of lips flapping for a month.

For now the dwarves would hopefully assume he was negotiating on their behalf, perhaps a little. Even if the elf went scampering back with the exact set of words that had been exchanged. If they spent too long then that would change.

If they came here for nothing then they would be sent back out into the woods. Lagakh would have no cure, he would have no favour with the dwarves. He could not help but wonder if that elf would try and kill him.

They stepped into what was - at least in the front room - a very unremarkable room. Hand carved wooden chairs were scattered around the room. There was a table with a plain wooden bowl and a plain wooden mug atop it.

"You can leave your weapons at the door."

"I would rather not."

"They will do you precisely no good within my home."

"Then there is no need to leave them at the door." Hath took a chair and leaned his axe against it. His attitude seemed to slightly irk the crone whilst still amusing her.

"You have no obligation to do anything, but I would welcome your side of those story," Hath proposed.

 

[Lagakh]

Laga wasn't sure who was less forthcoming: Hath or the Crone. Deciding that she didn't feel like arguing over the little things, she sat her bone club next to the door and leveled the Crone with a threatening gaze. The sort of gaze that spoke of harm and recklessness. The Crone responded with a smirk and lifted her bejeweled hands disarmingly.​

​

"You're right." The Crone replied. "I have no obligation to do anything. Nor do I have an obligation to do nothing. Which leaves me content to straddle the middle." She flicked her finger towards a metal box, standing at waist height. A piece of coiled metal turned red hot and she turned to place a pot on top. By Laga's estimation, it was filled with water.​

​

"Please take a seat. I will make some tea." She lifted her hand before either had a chance to respond. "Arguing will do you precisely no good within my home."​

​

Laga huffed and took a seat in a cushioned seat. She was surprised by the comfort and given just the briefest moment to inspect the house. The ceiling was lofted but still seemingly low, especially considering the woman's height. Things felt rustic, which matched the exterior well. The innards of the hovel were constructed of wood still adorned by bark, gnarled chucks of timber, and the odd bit of metal where it seemed appropriate.​

​

It did feel like a crones home.​

​

"I didn't release any demons. I cast no curse. The only interaction I have had with the consortium was that I refused to help them with their mining. Despite my enjoyment of Grandir's..." She cleared her throat. "Impressive charm, I was not interested in him or his group from a professional point of view. Needless to say, they punctured a vein that had been long sleeping. There, in the cavern. From their hammer, smoke coiled out. I would imagine there is more than just bears rampaging these woods in response."​

 

[Hath Charosh]

Grandir's..." She cleared her throat. "Impressive charm,

It was fortunate that the tea had not yet been provided or else a mouthful would not be spread across the crone's floor. Hath looked towards Lagakh in the hope of some form of moral support but she looked just as lost in the situation as he had done.

Her version of the story felt more believable to him, which was probably what she wanted. The dwarf seemed to type to cover his own backside with spun tales. Yet that only brought the question of why he would want Hath to deal with the crone. If she was willing to use magic to heat her tea on some strange device then it stood to reason that she was a powerful witch.

"And this...thing has now been unleashed all around your home?" he asked. To say that Hath lacked a diplomatic tongue would be an understatement. To him it simply stood to reason that if she cared about the outbreak then perhaps she would be pushed to action.

That would be the best of both worlds, but if she drew out whatever had worked into Lagakh's skin then he would gladly place his faith in their ability to get far away from this dammed placed.

 

[Lagakh]

She caught the Orcs bewildered expression and did her very best to not mirror it. Though the very thought of this tall and, admittedly, beautiful witch bedding down with that Dwarf sent her down a surprisingly deep rabbit hole of logistical questions.​

​

How, exactly, was Grandir impressive?​

​

How exactly could those bits match up?​

​

What magic did Grandir employ to seduce this witch?​

​

The list went on and on. She snapped out of it with a quick slurp of the tea, sinking into the unusual comfort it brought. Laga wasn't typically one for drinks prepared in such a manner.​

​

"Well, not really. This isn't my home. This is where I complete research. And up until Grandir's troops started swinging through this cavern, I had been studying the interior presence for...academic purposes."​

​

"Academic purposes?" Laga uttered, irritated, as she lowered the mug.​

​

"Exactly. And for utility, of course. In earnest, I have no particular horse in this race. Grandir has expedited my research in unfortunate ways but as it goes, the road to success is hardly one of ease and forthcoming."​

​

Laga felt her jaw tighten as her hand clamped down on the mug, shattering it into pieces.​

 

[Hath Charosh]

There was a deep silence after the tinkle of ceramic pieces falling to the floor. Hath let it

"So not a witch, but a wizard who pokes things which should be left alone and then writes it down in a book?" Hath accused, breaking the silence. He felt a deep-rooted anger that hadn't flooded his veins since the demonic presence had been purged from his soul.

"What is this thing? What will it take to purge it from Lagakh?" he demanded. Diplomacy was falling by the wayside already.

At least the logistical question that had passed through his own mind was chased away. Hopefully permanently. It wasn't an image he wanted to linger on his mind.