Private Tales Out of Place

[Scabhair]

“Elves say that about everything,” she was quick to reply, her mouth twitching up at the corner. “And if you ask us we’ll probably say that nobody before the orcs could track and hunt down a beast proper.”

“I reckon the right of it is somewhere halfway.” Scabhair tilted her head with a minute smile as they worked against the background of knife on wood. “Same as judging distance or wind. You gauge it low and you gauge it high, and then you aim down the middle.”

At his challenge, her grin blossomed wider, tusks catching the orange glint of flame. Still she worked on, adding steadily to the pile of nocked arrows waiting to be wound with tough sinew string.

“And I wonder, Hath, if you’ve ever shot a moving target off the back of a galloping lion.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"I'll give you that. Like the way you put it. But it was a brave little bastard to say it to my face," Hath chuckled. The elf had been less brave when he had realised Hath was offended enough to take a swing.

"No," he admitted with a tilt of his head before blowing the nock he had etched in. He held it up to compare against the original arrow to compare. "Not given many chances to do that. You would have to teach me just to shoot of a horse. A standing one. You think that skill means you'd be a better shot on foot?"

He took the thread and started to reinforce the arrows with notches whilst she finished the others.

 

[Scabhair]

Scabhair hummed her agreement as she set down the last shaft from the lot. “Everyone’s a brave bastard until an orc raises their axe.”

Her back cracked and popped in chorus as she stretched, rolling some life back into her shoulders and neck.

“Well,” she said as she sorted through her pack for a canteen, “on foot is where you begin. Once you can deal with all manner of game, reliably, you get up in the saddle.”

Emerging victorious, Scabhair took a few long swigs of the water before offering it to Hath. “It’s a bit like shooting in strong winds, I suppose. You can never aim exactly at your target.”

All of this to say, in a really roundabout way – yes.

 

[Hath Charosh]

There was little light now. Lessat painting her silhouette in midnight blue as she stretched. The rest of her shape filled in with the flickering light of the fire. There wasn't much to see the thread as he wound it tight just below the nock, but his hands knew these motions without the guidance of sight. It would be unnecessary if the arrow was lost the first time it struck a target, but sometimes one arrow could last a long time and if not reinforced the nock would split apart. He cut a thread with his knife and tugged until the end vanished into the twists.

"So we've established that your are more skilled in sitting down archery..." he said quietly. There was no hint of amusement in his voice at all, but the flames threw up enough light to catch the glint of amusement in his eye.

 

[Scabhair]

She laughed a full-bellied laugh and shook her head. “Yes, I suppose you could put it like that. But then—”

Scabhair leaned closer, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “Could also say that you have to put in twice as much effort to hit the same target. And I even get to do it from the comfort of my own saddle. So who’s the real winner?”

With a wink the half-orc retreated, bundling up the nocked arrows to put them safely away for the night.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath opened his mouth to reply, but his brain faltered. He offered a shrug and a low chuckle. He knew he was out of his depth. He found her fascinating, but had enough self-awareness to know that he was going to fall short when it came to word play.

He travelled further than most city dwellers would ever imagine. He'd met people who thought the next village over was a long distance trip. For all that, he was also ingrained in his community and way of living. A woman who was half elven, rode a lion and educated by humans seemed outside the ordinary and Scabhair was still immersed in the ways of their people. Elbion was going to be an experience. Travelling with company was also a change in pace, but that was a welcome one.

It was a strange path that had led here, he reflected. With everything bundled away Hath let the warmth of the fire soak into his skin before he would unravel his bed roll.

"Anyone you still know in the city?" he asked. Hath leaned back and rested on his elbows. Stories of the stars had him mapping some of the constellations. "They said humans can see half the stars an orc can, but that an elf can see even more," he muttered quietly.

 

[Scabhair]

“A few,” she conceded after a quiet spell of thought. Their conversation was beginning to stagger out, the silence filled by calming crackle and hiss of the fire. Scabhair didn’t mind – it recalled the slow, uneventful watches they’d keep during those long months of migration.

“Some that I’d rather not, if I’m being honest.” She flashed a small, self-deprecating smile before turning her gaze to the clear skies. “But there’s another orc that you’ve got to meet when we get there. She’s fixed up my axe more times than I care to count.”

“And I wouldn’t know about that. Always seemed to me the Shaman had me beat every time we went star-counting.” She pursed her lips. “He’s got rheumy eyes and cataracts.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath let his gaze fall towards the fire. It was easy to get lost watching the mesmerising dance of the flames. So there were orcs living down in that great city too. That shouldn't have surprised him, not after they had spoken the tales of the wind and of how the orcs were destined for all corners of the land.

"Might not have been beyond a shaman to have them more in here," Hath pressed his palm to his chest over his heart, "than on his eyes. I really don't spend much time around other species," he added. It was clear that he was talking as much to himself as to her. Whether it was an explanation of his questions or a regret to be rectified was neither clear in his tone, nor clear in his own mind.

He let his gaze travel back to Scabhair. His eyes very slowly adjusting from the bright flames. The elven heritage was clear to see, but she was still particularly handsome. He tilted his head back to look at the stars, it would have been easy to make it seem as if he was staring.

"Does your friend make arrowheads?" he asked.

 

[Scabhair]

She hummed her agreement, eyes once more fixated upon the star-spangled firmament. Sleep would not come easy tonight – as always when she’d not tired herself out trekking, her mind would linger on the thoughts of the day, slipping easily into the current of memory, into her distant visions of a different future.

Scabhair sighed and shuffled around under the heavy furs until she was comfortable. “For half of the city, I’d wager. The people of Elbion don’t make for great archers. In fact they don’t make for great anything as far as combat is concerned. Give them a sword and they’d probably end up stabbing their own foot. I’d rather not even try with an axe.”

“I don’t know a single city guard that isn’t a mercenary hire. That’s why they invested so much in their walls, I reckon. Don’t have to lift a finger if everyone ends up wrecking themselves against the main gate.” She smacked her lips in thought. “Dwarven steel, reinforced with the enchantments from their mages. You’d need an Anir army and some Dreadlords with plenty of skill to stand a chance.”

She chuckled and rolled towards the fire for warmth. “Can’t lay siege to a tribe if they’re not there after you’ve dragged your soldiers over a hundred leagues of muddy steppes.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath tried to imagine what it would be like to attempt to take such a city. He knew his people had laid waste to dwarven fortresses before. There were many stories of such events, but the dwarves tended to hold out for a very long time. It took numbers and usually searching out the secret entrances through the deep roads. That city below might not even have any underground entrances. Just foreboding walls that required siege engines or dangerous magics to being down.

"Large human armies are slow," he reflected. "It would take them years to even reach the Steppes from here."

An orc could maintain a steady jog for hours upon hours, eating on the go and only need short breaks for sleep. It was why they were difficult to out maneuver in a real war. It was also why Hath, like Scabhair, wasn't feeling worn out enough to find sleep quickly. This was almost definitely the most involved conversation he had held in at least five years.

"Does it get crowded in there?" he asked. It might have seemed a strange question to ask, but he placed some trust in her by explaining further. "I am... Not fond of thick crowds. Make me..." he tilted his head from side to side as he tried to find the right word. They made him feel a lot of things: nervous, frustrated, angry. "Agitated," he finally settled on.

 

[Scabhair]

She made a noise in the back of her throat. “You and me both. And it really…”

The back alleys of Elbion, down at the docks, could get awful thick with throngs, especially on the way to the fishmarket in the morning. The College district was usually airier, and built with more space besides, but that could change at the drop of a dime when the humans threw their celebrations of this mage or the other. Holidays were downright unbearable there – the main square filled up faster than a clearing on the eve of a Great Rite.

“...depends where you go. Stick to the main street and you’ll be fine.”

Even as she said it, Scabhair frowned. “Well, except for when we go sell that spice of yours. No merchant in the main district would take that off you without a bill of sale. We’ll have to jaunt down into the docks for that.”

And then back up through the Craftsmen’s quarter to pay a visit to Pern.

“It’s a busy city. Loud, too, and smelly as all the shite in a field raked together. But then all human cities are like that. The Allirian Outer city or the Areck slums… it’s bad.” She blew air out of her nose. “And they call us barbaric.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

He wrinkled up his nose. "Small human towns smell bad enough already," he grunted. He didn't really want to imagine what it was like with a city that large with horseshit strewn streets and effuse being thrown out of windows. Claws of apprehension seemed to rise up and grab the back of his windpipe. He visibly clenched his fists, forearm muscles bunching up.

Over a few seconds he released the breath he had been unconsciously holding. As he breathed out he slowly unfurled his hands once again. Hath felt his palms pressed to the ground. Earth and grass, what he preferred to have beneath him.

It would be uncomfortable to spend much time in the paved city, but it was just something he was going to have to deal with. There were worse things he had faced, so he didn't really understand why this bothered him so much. At least she didn't like it either. Scabhair had also survived it for years of her life. He could manage for a few days.

"So trade in the spice, get some arrowheads from your friend who will do a fair price?" There was logic in his train of thought, but he couldn't deal with the intricacies of how humans managed their trade systems. Scabhair had been there when the guard had given him a kicking for getting worked up about it. "Could probably do with some better boots actually," he thought out loud as he considered what he could trade for. The idea of carrying around coins didn't appeal to him greatly. Attractive to thieves and he preferred practical items he could carry and use.

 

[Scabhair]

“Just about,” Scabhair agreed. It wouldn’t go so smoothly, of course. Likely they’d face at least a cursory check from the guards at the main gate, followed by the unpleasant task of tracking down a black market merchant in the narrow streets down at the docks.

“We’ll be passing through the right district to find you a good cobbler,” she continued her train of thought aloud. “There’s a dwarf’s got a shop at the edge of the Ninth square. Or did, anyway. It’s been a while since I’ve last been to Elbion.”

Hopefully long enough that Raballa had forgotten all about her.

“Do you remember what markings those merchants were wearing? The ones you took the spice off?”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Markings?" he asked. He was intrigued as to what this trip to the docks was going to entail.

"They do like to make things complicated. I own my axe because it is in my hands. It was in the other hands of another orc but I wanted it. Well, that and it was the Great Rites and a woman I liked was following him around."

Hath chuckled quietly. "She still became his mate, but I got a magical axe. Not that it does much except glow in the dark sometimes."

 

[Scabhair]

“Yes, markings. Same as every tribe has one, their merchants do too.” Goes to show what a culture values. “I’d rather like to avoid selling them back to the people you robbed in the first place.”

Scabhair snorted at his bluntness. She’d spent so many years in the company of humans she’d almost forgotten how refreshingly artless conversations could be.

“Could’ve just asked that other orc what its magic did.” Humor seeped into her tone even now that her grin was invisible in the fading light of the fire. “Unless he got thrown out of the Rite after losing.”

Different tribes held different customs, after all. Some didn’t hold them at all, while others only observed them in a perfunctory manner. And then there were tribes like Aiforn, where folk were ritually burned in the pyre.

But that was a conversation for another time.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Broke his jaw and he wasn't so talkative with me after that day," Hath said. There was also the fact that the loser had built a cabin with his new mate and Hath had spent the winter too jealous to strike up another conversation about the axe. He had spent long stretches hunting alone in the forests.

"Doesn't go blunt. That's useful," he muttered as he thought back. Standing up he strode over closer to her bed roll. He smoothed out some dirt between Scabhair and the fire so she would be able to see it. Kneeling down he etched into the ground.

"Like a lion on its hind legs. It was blue. Or green. On red. It was on the wagons." Hath hoped that was enough. For all he knew it was the badge of a company that hired out wagons.

"This stuff really is rare then?"

 

[Scabhair]

Somehow the ending to that story wasn’t surprising. To an outsider, two orcs courting would look more like a back-street brawl gone wrong – but then that was part of its charm.

Humans, behind their tall walls and towers of coin, they could afford to breed with the weak. But those orcs that still lived with the land, they had to stand tall, run fast, endure great cold and scorching heat; all of that only to survive year-round and find their own mate to continue the tribe.

She’d been reminded of that difference enough times for the words to be etched on the inside of her skull. There were men in her tribe that cursed her mother to this day for choosing such a weak mate – an elf, of all people – when there were so many strong and strapping orcs to bed.

With a sigh Scabhair banished the thoughts and propped herself up on her elbows. “Very specific, thank you,” she drawled, leaning over to examine the crude drawing. She didn’t recognise the symbol from the description, but she’d never done much trading down in the docks either. “I’ll keep an eye out, I suppose. And yes, it is. Enough to kill over. The mages use it for some fancy spells up in the College.”

Now there was a thought. One of those lab-rats might well fork over a thick purse for the amount Hath had stolen off those merchants. Then again, going up to the College was just asking for trouble. If Raballa saw her…

“We’ll see when we get there. Prices fluctuate a lot depending on the season and politics.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath flashed her a toothy grin. "I didn't pay for it in the first place anyway," he said. From what she said it would probably pay for all the things he would need of the city. A room, some arrowheads, some boots. He didn't much care for human cooking, but it might also go as far as getting a decent amount of meat to eat. He couldn't live off oats and bread for days on end like humans seemed to be able to.

Talking of the past left him thinking of his tribe again. He would miss - assuming the times were good enough - the festivities over winter when they settled down in the ancestral settlement. His enormous older half-brother led the warriors of the tribe and would obviously exert his dominance upon return, but every year Hath returned a little more wise and left a few more bruises on Kraghk.

Yet even with them on the outskirts of a city he felt some genuine axiety about entering he wasn't about to turn and head for home. Hath enjoyed following his feet and travelling further in a direction than he had before. Scabhair had played a part in getting him out of a tricky situation. He liked listening to her take on their tales and hearing about the world beyond his own fairly narrow experiences.

Hath made his way back to his bed roll and lay down. That same shortword was untied and placed close enough that it could be drawn in a heartbeat. Not that he would sense danger before Inodeirr.

"I am glad we met on the road Scabhair ri Eine," Hath said earnestly. A human might have found it an almost childlike proclamation, but sometimes a simple thing needed to be said in his view.

 

[Scabhair]

She laid out her own axe under her bedroll, one hand always on the haft in case things went wrong in the night. It wasn’t very likely this close to Elbion, where the guards rigorously patrolled the roads for any would-be highwaymen, but instinct was instinct.

Shoving down a yawn, Scabhair nodded at the night. “As am I, Hath Charosh. Good company is hard to find.” She thumped the earth twice in the universal sign of respect, content to slowly drift off with a crackling fire and two warriors she could trust to have her back.

Dawn would find them all to soon, spilling over the distant Spine like liquid gold. Once the glint of sunlight found the mirror surface of the Cairou lake, the world around them would lit up like a pyre on the eve of a Great Rite.

 

[Hath Charosh]

It made him feel quite content to hear her say that. Yet he had drifted off slowly. He had thought of his tribe in the past, then tried to scale up human towns in his imagination to see what lay ahead. He had thought of the scent of the Savanna in the morning rain. He had thought of Scabhair's red hair in the moonlight and on whether she had a mate to return to. He imagined going back to those guards who had given him a kicking and returning the favour.

Hath often wondered if other orcs daydreamed as much as he did on long journeys. It wasn't something he had ever brought up; didn't want the shamans deciding he needed to have them recounted in case there were any important signs being delivered through his idle thoughts.

Hath woke easier, getting up and leaving his bed roll in place. He meandered away to relieve his bladder. He took the sword with him. No better way to pick off a member of a group.

It was only as he returned, having not been ambushed, that he saw the mountainside lit up by the morning sun. He stopped in his tracks, crossed his arms over his chest and took a moment to consider the sight of Elbion.

"Guard at that gate gonna give us any hassle?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't have to leave all his weapons behind.

 

[Scabhair]

By the time Hath returned, Scabhair had already packed up her bedroll and scattered the remains of their campfire. Her stomach was already growling its displeasure at the missed breakfast, but the prospect of something other than dried fish was appealing enough to stave off her appetite.

Oh, the street food in Elbion… she smacked her lips and shoved down another pang of hunger.

“Yes, they most definitely will. But,” she stood up with a grin, hoisting her backpack, “they’ll have to shut up all the same, though. They can glare, but they’ll have to let us through.”

And glare they did – beady eyes full of distrust met the pair of orcs from afar as they approached across the open stretch of the road. Even this early, the main way into the city was wide open for the merchant carts and caravans to roll through. Soon enough the two joined the line, advancing steadily until the captain at the gate stopped them with an inhospitable halberd.

“What’s y’alls business in this here city?” He didn’t have to add the filthy orcs at the end – it was implied by the drawl of his voice.

She didn’t bother replying. She simply produced a folded parchment from her coat and held it out for the man to take. He squinted at the paper before snatching it from her hand.

His expression turned increasingly sour as he scanned the document. Finally he hit the bottom, where the finality of the Elbion seal settled on his sagging shoulders like one of those boulders at the foot of the Spine.

“Fine,” he spat and shoved the parchment back at the half-orc. “But if I hear y’all are causin’ any kinda trouble, I’ll have ye thrown in chains faster ‘n’ you can say ‘tusk-pig’.”

Ah, there it was. Eau de racisme, always refreshing.

“We’ll be sure to behave,” Scabhair replied in the smooth tones of Elbion Common, and then they were let through into the bustle of the greatest merchant city of the North.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath was already in a foul mood from being forced to wait in a line. Yet it was conveyed in the most pleasant smile as he looked down at the guard as he walked past. Watching the guard's reticence at having to let them pass would do for now.

Pig was an insult he had heard used for their kind. Tusk-pig was a new one. In his own language he could pick up subtle nuance much better. Trading idle insults was more commonly a prelude to a not particularly serious fight. If the insults were delivered a certain way then it was clear that it was time to make some room for blood would be spilled.

His instincts had made it feel as if the captain was spoiling for a good fight, but his eyes had told him otherwise. The guard had wanted them to make a mistake so he could call more guards and give them both a kicking. Hath had been given that lesson just minutes before meeting Scabhair

He waited until they were some distance away before muttering in orcish. "Someone asks for trouble like that again they'll be too busy eating teeth to call for guards."

He chuckled, because it made him feel better about the situation. The street was wide here and it was too early to be crowded. His bows were unstrung and out of sight, his axe was wrapped up. The short sword was visible and within reach, but he had made small efforts not to look too imposing. Looking at the bowed, unarmed commoners and the way they regarded the pair he realised he had been pissing in the wind.

"Will they have food near here?" he asked. Despite the horse shit in the roads, his sensitive nose could still pick up a waft of many different dishes being cooked nearby. With so many houses, he expected it was just people making their own food. It still made him hungry.

 

[Scabhair]

She understood the impulse all to well – had to work on tamping it down during her first years here – but now she only shook her head touched his shoulder in a placating gesture.

“We could beat a patrol, perhaps even two of them, but eventually we would both die with quarrels in our gut. Orcs get no quarter here, so don’t give them the excuse.” Too many of their kin sacrificed their lives on the twin altars of pride and recklessness.

“Yes, but it’s mostly just bakery and greens up here. The docks are where it’s at.” ‘It’ being meat, naturally.

She lead him through a widing side-alley and then down multiple sets of drunken stairs. They dispersed flocks of children on the way, kicking bladder balls across tiny courtyards; they passed under crumbling balconies and rows of laundry snapping in the wind; they dodged dirty chamberpot waterfalls and snuck past fishwives exchanging morning barbs across windows and doorsteps.

One more corner, and the pair found themselves in the open again, a fair salt breeze pulling up from the sea. The smell of fresh catch was already on the air, and the shouting of merchants besides. Unlike the upper city, the docks were already alive with swarms of sailors unloading new ships. They pushed all other folk to the side with the massive barrels they rolled through the streets towards their warehouses, where they would linger an hour or a day before being snatched up by another trader brought in by the fair winds.

Scabhair smacked her lips and nodded in the direction of the nearest street vendor. “Seared squid. It’s a local specialty. Tastes like fish but it’s juicy like a steak.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath had understood that picking a fight with the guard would be a bad idea. There were plenty of them up on those walls and in groups on the streets. It was the tone of her warning that made the picture just that little bit more clear. That the likely outcome wasn't being thrown out of the walls, but their bodies being rolled out of a cart into the river. This wasn't just going to be an exercise in control to keep his hatred of crowds in check, there was a very real danger.

One thing stood out to him on their march through the streets. The children moved out of the way and looked up in shock, but the little people didn't turn up their noses in disgust. None of the children muttered 'who let their kind in' under the breath. One even followed them the length of an alley.

The breeze, and open stretch of water ahead of them was a soothing balm. He had never actually been assailed by the scent of so many fish gathered piled up and stuff into barrels.

"This much fish in one place has quite the aroma," he observed, "but its the lesser of two evils that's for sure."

He could barely even smell the horse shit down here. Hath had covered his entire nose down one narrow street where the housing loomed over them and seemed to hold in the stench.

The smell of seafood being cooked was in no way unpleasant and he followed her gaze. He reached behind him, hand pushing into his bag and rooting around until he found something. It was a small leather pouch. He didn't have many coins left from selling poultry and arrow shafts, but he imagined it would extend as far as a snack until they could sell that spice.

"That sounds good," he said with some enthusiasm.

He tipped out the contents into one large palm. There was a mix of Elbion and Vel'anir coin. His other hand scratched at the side of his neck gave a mild grimace of embarrassment.

"Don't actually know how much that is," he admitted. Hath could count, but no one had ever taught him to read the various human scripts to represent numbers. Nor was the maths of combining a number of different denominations within his grasp.

 

[Scabhair]

She met his confusion with a mild smile and an outstretched palm. Since she’d returned from the College, Scabhair had given lessons on basic arithmetic more times than there were trees under the Spine. By this point, she had it perfected down to a t.

“Let’s pay up first,” because learning addition in currency always seemed to go down better with some meat.

After they’d each purchased their helping of squid – “Yes, without the bread.” – the pair of orcs picked their way out of the dockside maze and onto the piers proper. The fresh wind there swept away most of the fish stink. They were left with a morning view on the busy Cairou lake, where sail of every creed and color stretched bank to bank.

Scabhair plopped down onto a stack of abandoned crates a ways off the main jetties and took a healthy bite out of the warm meal. “Alright, so. Let’s leave off the Anir coin for now.” They weren’t the same type of practical merchant sort as Elbion or Allirian folk, and had terrible fractions.

“Now here you’ve a docatto, which is worth ten zolde, which are these,” her finger moved from a worn golden coin to a trio of smaller silver ones, “and a single zoldo will give you another ten tolare.” She picked up a hexagonal bronze coin and turned it over to show the Elbion mint stamp.

“All you have to do is count on your fingers.” Unless you were missing a few, which was a rather common issue among orcs. “One gold coin makes for ten silver ones, and one silver coin makes for ten bronze ones.”