Private Tales Out of Place

[Scabhair]

Maybe Hath had a point. Maybe humans had their reasons for looking down.

But for all the time spent in their company, Scabhair couldn’t fathom what they could be. (Except perhaps avoiding all the shit that floated down their streets. As fair a reason as any.)

The rest of the climb passed in silence, if only because breathing and talking were becoming mutually exclusive. The sheer face of the tower gave way to orcish determination, and though the gargoyles mocked them on the way upward, the pair never stopped until they crested the edge of the edge of the roof.

For her part, Scabhair spent the first moment taking in the view (and the air). If words were unmanageable before, they were now unnecessary. The Cairou meandered across the landscape like a great silver snake, disappearing from view behind the trailing ridges of the Seret. Just before pouring into the basin of the great lake, the river dipped from sight into the deep ravine it had carved into the red stone over the centuries of its steady flow towards the gulf of Liad.

A flock of white birds took off from the glassy surface as a trio of cargo ships cut across the water. She followed them with her gaze as they soared over the walls of the city, up up up until they vanished from view behind the looming white spires of the College.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Breathing heavily, he stopped with his chest and pack over the top. After a few seconds of gathering his strength he scrambled to get his legs up to the top of the wall.

The rangy orc came to kneel just before the edge, engrossed in the view. He didn't look back towards the lands to the south. There was no mistaking the scale of the college from here. No tricks of perspective.

It wasn't even constructed from simple stone blocks. There were wide arches and coloured panes of glass. Flying buttresses had arches that mirrored the greater structure. There were layers of intricate detail in the stonework on every corner and atop every tower. It was all so beautifully pointless.

"We couldn't build something like that," he muttered. He turned and dangled his feet off the edge of the wall. He could see far to the south from here. Woodlands were just a haze of green in the distance, but up close he knew that even a pinecone had a fine beauty on a tiny scale.

"They still can't build something as high as the greatest mountain, or as small and precise as a snowflake," he declared. "Probably won't stop until they do. And still, it is impressive that it can even stand. Wonder if there were any buildings so great that Urogosh tore down."

Hath stopped talking. He leaned back so he could draw more air into his lungs with each deep breath. It was much more peaceful up here with the view. The wind could talk up here, where the wall silence it below. Hath tilted his head and briefly watched Scabhair take in the view. It must have been the first time she had seen it in a long while. He could understand why she would have come here. Hath regretted making observations and interrupting her reunion.

 

[Scabhair]

“We could,” Scabhair contested, head tilted to the side. “If we wanted to. But we’re too sensible for that. What would orcs do with a great hunk of stone like that? We need to live, move, hunt. Hunks of stone are for sitting still and watching other men die in your stead.”

Though the ornate spire dug into her back, it didn’t stop her from leaning against it and basking in the sun. She closed her eyes against the warm glare, humming at his wandering wondering.

“Maybe. You wouldn’t believe how many hours I spent in the library up there, trying to find any scrap of information about that time. Or about her, at the very least.” A sigh. “Nothing. It’s the only time I wished our people were more keen on writing things down. Instead it’s Shaman to Shaman, Clan to Clan, mother to daughter…”

She met his eyes with a sad upturn to her mouth. “Break a link in the chain, and poof,” she blew the dust from her palm, “it’s all gone.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Hmm. Fire will do that to books easily enough too," he muttered. "Much harder to wipe out every story teller."

Hath didn't think too deeply into any particular issue. He could be a patient tracker, but he had a habit of taking what he saw as face value. Even the long days spent on the road he would be quite content without having a mental challenge to bide the time. This, however, he did give some thought.

"If you have a written record it stays as it was as long as the paper is there. A story changes over time. But in the same way you're trusting whoever wrote the damned book to have written the truth. Bet there's old books in there full of bollocks that people think is true because it's just old."

 

[Scabhair]

“Fair,” she said at length, tilting her head in agreement. “Some people here are convinced they know everything about anything, no matter if they’ve ever dealt with it or not.”

Scabhair shuffled around a bit until she could point at a distant wing of the College. “Most of that’s the library. Most of that’s horseshit. You know I read a book once that said that ra Tastlai is a rock floating in the sky?” She shook her head. “You throw a stone up into the air, it falls down. That’s how the world works.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath followed her arm, once more trying to take in the scale of the college buildings. It looked as if it had been constructed over generations. There were clear differences in the architecture. Some part of him could actually appreciate the idea of working towards something over such a long period of time that spanned generations.

He stopped thinking about that and furrowed his brow at her question. He scratched at the back of his neck, pushing a braid of dark hair aside.

"A rock in the sky?" he asked back. He was struggling to try and imagine that. "All the water would pour off it too." He didn't dismiss the idea casually, there were many stories of creation among the tribes.

"Who threw it there then?" he asked of this idea. He was used to stories coming with embellishment to bring them alive and make them more palatable.

 

[Scabhair]

Her lips pursed in thought. “Nobody, that’s the thing. They just think it’s… there. But it’s a spirit, it’s not a piece of marble like this,” she nudged her boot at the head of a nearby gargoyle. “There’s no story to it, Hath, just a bunch of iron instruments and rods and little round pieces of glass you can look through – they call them lenses – and then they look at the night sky like it was close enough to touch.”

She breathed out some of the wonder she’d felt when she first saw the magnificent megascope at the top of the astronomy tower. “Their ideas are strange, but they know how to build magnificent machines.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

He rocked head head back on his neck as if he had just seen something shocking. Slowly, he turned his head up towards Scabhair.

"What does a 'lens' do?" he asked again. Suddenly, the human world had his full attention.

 

[Scabhair]

“I… don’t quite know.” Her brow creased in thought. “Imagine the stars are flowers on the other end of the meadow. Lens make it so you’re looking at them like they were right in front of you.”

She smiled at the other orc, fangs peeking over her lip. “You should’ve seen it, Hath. It was wonderful. I wonder sometimes if that’s what the sky looks like from the highest peaks in the Spine.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

It wasn't just her enthusiasm that sparked his own interest. What she was describing seemed incredible. He'd seen the shamans use scrying pools to see far off places, but the images had always been murky. They had certainly never been used to being the celestial curtain closer.

"They just have these in the college?" he asked. Already it dawned on him that the tense she had used suggested it wasn't possible for him to go and see the instrument.

"Could go and find out. Mmm or get a goblin to make one."

Goblins were, after all, competent engineers with small hands for delicate work. They were also small and easy to intimidate into doing tasks.

 

[Scabhair]

“One,” she clarified, jerking her chin upwards, “they have one system of lenses, up there on the tallest tower. Maybe we can see the megascope when they point it at the night sky.”

His suggestion elicited a small chuckle. “You know, however much I’ve travelled, I’ve not met a great many goblins. But suppose they could. A smaller one, maybe, to carry around in a backpack.” She trailed off with the thought, the idea already branching off into everything that could be done with such an implement on the road. Far different than being stuck in a musty attic, forever.

An excited grin curled her lips.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Oh."

He had expected disappointment, but had held some hope that there might be more of the devices around the city. It had been made clear that the heart of the college was not accessible to him.

If not a goblin, then there were dwarves and gnomes who traded at Bhathairk. Such a rare item would not come cheap. He thought of the times he had tried to count a scouting party from another tribe at a distance. How easy would it be to understand their numbers and how well armed they were with such a device? It was an interesting, but also practical concept.

Because he was clearly disappointed that he wouldn't get to see how this marvel worked he made a joke. "Don't know, imagine you could carry quite a large goblin in a back pack."

 

[Scabhair]

“I imagine you could. But wouldn’t it be more effective to carry two small ones instead?” She ran with the joke as if it weren’t there, face a mask of serenity. “They would kick and scream quite a bit. I doubt it’d be worth the effort.”

Her smile quirked from amused to genuine as she nodded to the vista below. “Hope the climb was, though.” And they still had to get back down. With proper mountains it was usually more difficult than the ascent, but there were no overhanging rocks to struggle with here. Just a long, straight fall to look forward to.

“We should probably get going if we want to catch Pern for lunch.” As loathe as she was to part from the great view, the prospect of visiting an old friend did hasten her way down.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Two goblins would talk too much," he countered after a couple of seconds, unable to keep a straight face himself. It wasn't an immediate response; Hath didn't spend enough time making conversation to keep up a sharp tempo of back and forth wit.

Turning back to the city he let his gaze drift over the rooftops. The city managed to look appealing from up here. You couldn't see the grime on the walls, the muck in the streets. Rain blasted tiles that gleamed in the sun and imposing walls. A myriad of colour as sails conducted their slow, spiralling dance around the docks.

"It was worth the climb," he said, looking at peace with himself.

---

Hath looks distinctly unhappy. There weren't even many people in the tavern, but they still managed to make a constant hubbub. It was the low ceiling. Smoke from the fire escaped a partially blocked chimney, mixed with pipe smoke and clung to the rafters. There were rooms upstairs, which was why they were down here to eat.

It didn't help that he heard the odd muttered comment about them. They had an entire leg of mutton on the table before them and there were whispers of disbelief at how tuskers had the coin to afford so much.

Hath slowly unfurled his fingers from the clay flagon of ale before he could crush it in his grip.

 

[Scabhair]

Another hrk and splat sounded to her left.

Scabhair closed her eyes. Exhaled.

She’d seen the group of men when they’d first entered the tavern a candlemark ago. If the herd of flagons on their table was anything to go by, they had started drinking with the dawn and hadn’t stopped since. Their eyes, too, supported the suspicion – rimmed red with burst veins, cheeks as ruddy as the forests in autumn, and breath as bad as the open cesspools of Beggar’s row.

Where drink-clouded human eyes fell short, Hath would be able to tell just how tense she really was. Her motions were stiff and abrupt as she cut off another steaming slice of meat off the leg. The muscles of her jaw bobbed under the lines of her tattoos, turning roasted flesh to mince with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“Best we go upstairs soon as we finish this,” she said on a low voice after she washed down the food with a long swig from her own tankard. “There’s a few men behind me – the corner to your right – that’ll look to start trouble if we linger any longer. Too much ale.”

Might’ve been a strange concept for Hath to get his head around, though. Discounting city-bred orcs, their people weren’t nearly so given to drinking themselves into a stupor. Bit difficult to brew alcohol when you’re on the move throughout the year, following the game and the seasons.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath gave a slow nod. It wasn't behaviour he hadn't seen before. It wasn't behaviour he hadn't seen among his own people before. When several tribes gathered there was always at least one group of young orcs who worked themselves up into picking a fight with a similar group from another tribe. Usually they were allowed to blow off some steam until large, grizzled fighters would wade in and break it up.

The main differences were, to his mind, that it wasn't just the males of his people that got involved and that there were no guards who would come and hang those from the visiting tribe. They also didn't need courage from a mug to test their mettle against one another. He doubted those men wanted a test, just a chance to give him a kicking.

Hath didn't like crowds and noise. He could feel it like an itch behind his eyes. If they started something that frustration would spill out into uncontained anger. Humans were so small and fragile; it would not end well for the first of their group to get in his way. When the guards had apprehended him in that small town he hadn't been this far wound up. That fairly open town had been far less repressive that being deep inside the walled maze that was Elbion.

"Or go for a walk," he offered. It didn't occur to him that they would possibly follow them. A difference he missed was that a scrap between tribes at a gathering was usually a mutually affair. It was only when they were seriously competing for territory that opposing groups would hunt and kill each other.

 

[Scabhair]

Her red hair caught a blood-red glint in the light of the hearth as she shook her head. “Curfew. Plus those boys back there would likely try to catch us in some back alley, teach us how Elbion ain’t for tusk-pigs like youse.”

Because they were boys. Hardly had a wisp of chin-hair between them, hands yet unmarked by years of work. City folk then, born and bred. In her experience, that only made it worse. You’d think in a worldly place like this, with bustling trade and ships coming from afar, people’d be more used to the sight of something other than pink skin and five fingers.

The truth, as ever, was removed from ideal. Farmers knew orcs well, and for the most part respected the lot – bought meat from the nomad tribes and paid them to deal with wandering wolf packs. The townspeople instead oozed distrust, wary of the outsiders coming to steal their work, their homes, their women.

Somehow it was always the women. Used to be that she’d get all worked up from stupid arguments with stupider people; now she just got a good laugh out of it.

“Nights are darker here,” the tall houses blotted out most of the sky, “we could probably give them the slip, but I’d rather not try our luck with the guards. They carry torches.” And halberds. Long, heavy, nasty things that could fell a man in one swoop. Could fell an orc in one swoop. “But enough of that. If they start anything, we’ll deal with it.”

“How do you like the city so far?” she asked with a small grin, gesturing to the thick crowd around them; to the sour smell of sweat and drink mixing into the unique perfume of a downtown shebeen.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath pondered her explanation. His world, whilst stretching across more land than most of these city humans would ever see, was also quite limited. Despite how alien this place was, it still made sense to relate everything to what he knew.

Despite being a place of trade the reaction of the gate guards to wild orcs told Hath a great deal. This was a long way from orc tribes and they were considered a threat. If he had come across a human hunter in the middle of their plandath he probably would have attacked. However, unlike the young men behind Scabhair, a visitor would be treated with a measure of respect regardless of race.

Or would they? He wondered. A dwarf wouldn't get by without at least three jokes about beards. But dwarves always seemed to enjoy a good bit of banter.

"I like the city, from a distance. Or up high. Meat without having to chase something is welcome after the climb," he said, matching her smile. "But it's so... packed tight. Everything is too close. No grass."

Hath had been speaking in common human just to see if it settled those around him more but he fell back into his own tongue once more.

"They're not looking to start a fight because they think we want one?" he asked. It was a hopelessly naive thought, but it had slowly grown from the memory of trying to welcome visitors in their own way. Even as he said it his brow creased as he realised it was probably well wide of the mark.

 

[Scabhair]

“I wish,” Scabhair grunted into her mug, gaze flicking about the room for any signs of commotion. The best way to win a fight was to avoid it – rather unorcish of her, perhaps, but she’d learned that lesson the hard way in Elbion.

That, and how to pick your battles.

She sought out the large candle above the counter, gouging its steady burn with the practiced eye of a student. “Won’t be long until the guard shift change,” she spoke before another mouthful of mutton. “A patrol or two always file in for a drink then, crowd the place something fierce. We can slip out then.”

With any luck, the thirsty sentries would block the drunkards’ view of their table, and the two orcs would be long gone from the tavern before the air cleared enough to see. Then again, the guards might join in on the fun.

Could go either way.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath gave a nod of understanding and returned to gnawing at his meat to get it finished before they arrived. Even eating quickly managed to elicit a mock noise o disgust from the nearby table.

Neither of the orcs noticed the woman at the bar who watched them intently whilst never looking in their direction.

The guard soon filed in, still wearing the dyed shirts of the uniforms. They had short swords hanging from their belts, but no helmets, breastplates or polearms. Several sets of eyes fell on the orcs. A hushed silence descended on the room. Hath wasn't greatful for the break in the constant din.

The sergeant of the group moved towards the bar, striding with purpose and slapping his hand down.

"Need us to move them on?" he asked loudly, swinging his arm towards Scabhair's back. Hath raised his gaze, lips twitched towards an angry snarl before finding a modicum of control and looking back down at the table. Their meal was finished. He picked up the clay mug and washed it down with the last of the ale.

"Why? Fully paid up customers," the barman replied. Conversations started up again. The guards got on with getting their rounds in. Another squad started to push their way into the bar. Pern had recommended the place, the staff had no problem serving their kind.

Hath stood up and turned for the stairs. In the tension he had missed one of the youths moving to block his way. Hands on hips, the kid spat on the floor in front of Hath. That silence weaved its way back into the room.

Half a step drew them closed, Hath's shadow fell across the boy. A deep breath in and he straightened his shoulders.

"You picking a fight orc?"

It was the sergeant of the first patrol again. His clear voice cut across the room like a knife. Every syllable full of warning, painting a picture of what would happen in Hath raised a fist.

Lips pressed tight together, Hath drew in air through his nose. Scabhair was right at his shoulder.

"Please, let me past," Hath growled.

The boy grinned. "Oi, tusk pig asked nicely," came the voice of the sergeant from behind Hath once more. More jeers followed from the squad. Several laughing at a 'pig that could say please'. They were like snowflakes landing on his coat. Each settling with a sharp bite before melting and being absorbed. Every one a new weight to walk away with on his back. The boy puffed out his chest once more, then made a show of stepping aside for them to pass. Hath strode by and took the steps two at a time.

At the top of the stairs he stopped. The corridor between the rooms was narrow and oppressive. His hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides and his breathing was fast and shallow. Never before had he been forced to swallow such anger and embarrassment. Hath had never been particularly prone to bouts of rage, but he had always been a prideful man. His world had been a simple place with an easy hierarchy to follow.

 

[Scabhair]

“Hath.” With her level voice came a steady hand on his shoulder. She met his black eyes with her silver gaze, and held until she was sure no fists would rain tonight. “Let’s go,” she spoke kindly, unlocking the door to their room before giving him a solid push inside. The longer they lingered in the corridor, the more likely trouble would follow them upstairs.

It took some effort, but she managed to unlatch the shutters and throw them open for some fresh air. The biting cold that swept in from the Nahas in the north was a welcome balm on her heated skin. Scabhair found herself seated on the sill before she knew it, half-hanging out the window to count the stars.

Everyone kept anger at bay in their own way.

“Have to wonder,” she said at length, turning to face Hath again, “if Uroghosh didn’t have the right idea after all. It’s pretty, all of this – damn nice to look at, but look what it makes of people.”

With a sigh she slid off the shelf and went about kicking the dust out of the straw mattress. “And they call us pigs.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

He had turned sharply at her touch. Fangs beared, corded muscles of his neck taut. The very picture of the beast of rage they wanted to paint him for. He knew it too, even with the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the shame settling in her gut.

But Scabhair hadn't moved. She'd just met his gaze until he had doused the flames. Breathed deep until everything unwound. When she gave an insistent shove he felt more shame for having almost risen to them than for their comments.

He was glad he had not been sent here alone to collect a draft of manpower for the mercenary company. He would not have been - of course - Scabhair was selected and he had simply volunteered to make the journey too. He liked being on the road. He liked her too. It seemed a much better option than being left with an army of men.

"Maybe it is the city," he said, standing in the centre of the room. Scabhair leaning out to see the stars and breathe the air had not been lost on him. He would have preferred a long run to cool off. Or something to break to to let out some steam.

"Careful hitting that straw too hard; the bugs might decide to move out and leave with us." It was more to let her know that he was less wound up that to try and clear the air.

"We're those in the college any better? The young ones needed a slap to put them in their place. No different than ours in some ways. But the guards seem to enjoy their power over others instead of treating it as a responsibility."

That was the crux of the matter as he saw it. Those in these places rose so high because they craved the power over others. Power over other men, power over the world itself.

 

[Scabhair]

The joke got half a chuckle out of her – mostly for the effort. She flopped down on the sheets with a heavy sigh, eyes closed to the bare rafters.

“No.”

“And yes.”

Another snort.

“You’d think they’d be. You hope. For a while, you believe it – some even are.” Of course, there was always a but. “Imagine you’d given a rusty axe a coat of paint. It looks proper on the outside, maybe even good enough to sell it. Soon as you swing it, though, you see just how much shite there is underneath.”

Scabhair was trying not to be bitter. It was a work in progress.

“But then I’m howling at the wolves, aren’t I?” She puffed out a tired breath and propped herself up on her elbows. “You have to live with the Anirians.”

You’d be hard pressed to find a brand of human more given to war and hate.

 

[Hath Charosh]

It was the second time she'd used that contradictory pair of answers. She had a way of reasoning through her replies as she went, whilst he tended to fall into silences to ponder a reply. Perhaps, he wondered, it was something she had picked up from her study here. Did they talk endlessly to find their answers rather than searching within?

"Fucking galltacht," he sighed. Hath paced a few times across the room and then returned to his pack to find his bedroll. There was still a frustrated energy radiating off him. Every motion a little too quick and deliberate.

"A city this big leaches life from a huge expanse of land," he grunted. "We try and tell them that land can't be farmed, so they send soldiers."

Hath shook his head, flatenning out his bedroll right next to the straw mattress. He hoped the parasites he'd spotted in the seam of that sheet weren't planning a migration across the floorboards.

 

[Scabhair]

“There’s only one thing they listen to,” she said into the silent room. “The sound of their own voice.”

Soon after nighttime quiet settled over the pair. Even the ruckus downstairs petered out as curfew approached. As the yelling and clanging died down, the noises of a sleeping metropolis filtered through the rotting shutters. It was as soothing to Scabhair as the crickets of ra Tannghlas, as the murmur of the Spine.

Slumber took her swiftly, and she dreamt of fires in the sky.

Morning came with the echoes of pans and cauldrons downstairs; with the cries of milkmaids and farmers outside, bickering over whose cart ought to pass first; with the chorus of sparrows and swallows gathering upon and under the roof.

So calm was the inn compared to dinner, it felt like breaking fast in a temple. Scabhair dipped her breadcrust into a thick, warm broth – purportedly chicken, but she had a sneaking suspicion the birds’ chirping had quieted down for a reason.

Her eyes traipsed over the room, over the many empty chairs and the few patrons who had risen as early as the orcs. There was a thin woman in one corner, shoveling the food in her mouth as she thumbed through Council & Commerce. A man sat opposite, hunched with years of transcribing documents at the College. Might be she even knew him. And then at the counter there was another figure, spidery, pale fingers wrapped around a steaming mug. His broad back was turned to the door – careless or confident? – as he exchanged soft words with the barkeep.

Finally her gaze found its way back to Hath. “Upper square later? Should be plenty of youth looking for work there. Might even meet those boys from last night.”