Private Tales Step into the Sunset

[Jumall Ugmagut]

Jumall let out a huff, tugging the hood of his cloak until it shielded his eyes. “Females,” he grumbled, ignoring the searing look he felt on his back. He didn’t understand the deal with women, or women in general. They were too confusing and strange to him, especially when they did that flirty thing.

He arrived Alliria a few months ago after traveling alone for nearly a year. He had needed that, after taking that dangerous mercenary job. A wealthy merchant asked for escorts, offering a hefty sum that he definitely needed. Jumall had injured his leg beforehand and struggled to make ends meet. Luckily a bartender told him about the job the night before the merchant was set to leave.

What had meant to be a few weeks of travels turned into months. They were all attacked by very skilled human bandits, some saying they were from one of the fortresses. The merchant was unfortunately killed, which led many to pilfer his fortunes, which included Jumall. It didn’t mean much though because when everyone had scattered to find their own way home some got captured…which also included Jumall.

They ended up being slaves in a way, forced to work in a forge for this wicked half-orc. The sight of him made Jumall spit on his shoes, which had earned him a few punches and promotion to harder labour. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to back home, though. Except he could’ve left if he had wanted to without must resistance.

He spent a long time working and trying to escape. The same routine almost put him into a trance, quite literally doing the same exact tasks in a strict schedule everyday, not deviations. But when Jumall saw a young halfling…well, let’s just say his willpower hit the roof, and so did his fury.

Long story short, Jumall liberated himself and many others, and because of his help, he had gotten a ride to the nearest safe city. He got himself together along the way, trying to not let the past almost two-years of basically torture seep into him too deep. Although it had showed him the worst side of psyches, and showed him how to empathize with weak, his sense of distrust never wavered much. Jumall already knew how horrible and cruel the world could be.

He licked his lips and glanced around, making sure he was going the right way. But he looked up a second too late.

“Oof!” He ran smack into a towering, bulky figure, and it was Jumall who made the sound.

He scowled to himself before dusting his chest and muttering an apology.

The orc chuckled. “So they teach you hafties to be meek? How adorable.”

Jumall snapped his head up and gladed directly into his eyes. “Is that what the ladies say about your size, then?”

The orc growled, making some nearby squirm away. Jumall heard someone nearby angrily say something about the orc destroying things when he gets riled up. He wasn’t big on calling attention to himself, especially in populated areas, and the orc definitely wasn’t worth it, especially in his tired state.

Jumall took a quick deep breath, clenching his fist underneath his cloak. “Apologies, sir. Best be-“

And suddenly he was flying into a nearby vegetable stand, head hitting a thick post. Jumall grunted, trying to ignore the wail of the child of the stand owner. He quickly looked around and saw the orc approaching him, cringely cracking his knuckles.

No one told him to be a fat f-ck. But Jumall wasted no time. He slipped underneath some stands, ignoring the loud sounds behind him, and escaped into an alley.

“It wasn’t even that serious, honestly.” Not like he didn’t have his own bad temper. But like many stubborn people, Jumall suffered from being a hypocrite and denialist.

He was rounding a corner, trying to find the place his was staying at, when he noticed a guard talking to a woman. At first he didn’t know why they caught his attention in particular, then he realized that she was one of the stand owners, and a cheeky one at that. She had gotten upset with him not…flirting back with him? And then allegedly making her look a fool…and now they were both looking straight at him.

Jumall cursed repeatedly, swiftly turning around and going down another alley. It’s not like I’m a criminal, it was just a scruffle…heck, I didn’t even throw a punch! The meat head was being dramatic. But he knew how intolerable and vengeful most girls could be, and it really disgusted him.

Before he could round another corner, he heard the sound of the orc and with his heart skipping an annoying beat, Jumall reluctantly slipped into a dark doorway.

He walked for a bit, trying to make his footsteps quiet as possible. The way he went lead into a very tiny courtyard, full of wilting plants…and two sleeping dogs.

Oh brother. He stepped backwards and started to walk. That’s when he heard the strangest ringing sound. His brows furrowed. It was such an uncanny ringing, almost as if something otherworldly was making it. He became still as possible, trying to hone onto where it as coming from.

Following his ear, Jumall came across a shrouded door with a strange elven symbol on it. The door was ajar, obscured the darkness in the corridor and the darkness within. He saw, and smelled, a few lit candles. Something called him to go inside, and he told himself it was because he thought it was a shop.

Using his hunting skills, Jumall quietly stepped into the room and made his way inside, paying attention sharply. He was barely a few feet in when a female voice spoke, halting him in his steps.

“One couldn’t be any louder, I supposed…”

Jumall’s eyes fell onto a figure sitting on a metal contraption, like a throne, covered in beautiful clothes. He could hardly make out her features, since she was covered in a large cloak that obscured everything. As if the place wasn’t creepy enough.

“…Pardon, miss.” That’s all his annoying brain could think of at the moment, much to his disappointment. What if she claimed he was trespassing, and he landed in further apparent trouble?

 

[Clorinthanys]

Clori stared at the banner hanging above her left furnace. She sat with her legs crossed on her throne, a glass of black wine in her hand. She was only clothed in a red gown and a copper gauntlet, which was made to look like it had green vines wrapped around. She only had to use a pinch of her willpower to make the vines look like they were moving.

She allowed herself a small smile, a forced one. The order was only made two days ago. She prized herself on her speed and expertise, but it was often hard for her to shake the tiny pit in her chest that told her it was good enough. Actually, the pit, the tiny unseemly voice, sounded so much like…someone she once knew.

Many say something like that but it didn’t compare to having someone you loved dearly and deeply change so abruptly, and thoroughly. As if their souls were switched. Despite how distraught it had left her, Clori managed to look on the bright side—at least it reminded her of her mortality, how this body was but a vessel.

Clori let out a loud laugh, which echoed in her chambers. There were no doors in her abode/workshop, none except for the front door, which was heavily enchanted. But apparently only when it was closed, she would soon find out.

As her mind wandered off her fingers slowly circled the rim of her wine glass. It was no ordinary glass but one forged in the fae regions. Clori had actually witnessed when it was being forged, which is why it meant so much to her. It was mixed with metals, and a single prick of her blood. The blood magic had simply been to purify the contents of the cup, in case anyone tried to poison her. But these days—these years Clori didn’t have many guests outside of business, and even she had to admit that it was a little sad.

The sound the wineglass made was something she was so used to by now. It was a tune at a frequency only certain kinds of elves could hear clearly, specifically high elves. It was very beautiful and entrancing, even to Clori, though she had heard it many, many times over. But it was soothing to her when those very dark feelings began to creep up on her.

Unfortunately the tune couldn’t drown out the sound of male intrusion. Clori wrinkled her nose in slight disgust. So many have entered her shop that she could even tell the race they were, most of the time. This person was an orc, or something like that, given their smell. But it was mixed with something more…persistent, like a human. Humans were the worms of the earth in her eyes but even she had to respect their success, even if it didn’t make sense to her.

“One couldn’t be any louder, I suppose…”

Her eyes landed on the tall figure of a half-orc. He, too, had a cloak but it did nothing to hide the tension he held, and it seemed to be less about her or her forge. Clori eyed him silently, her face expressionless. He couldn’t see it either way.

She was silent for so long that he started to inch back towards where he came, though he didn’t look like that’s what he really wanted to do.

Clori cocked her head to the side. “Is there something you wanted?” She put down the wineglass.

 

[Jumall Ugmagut]

Jumall cursed. Apparently profanity was his only loyal companion these years, and it surely kept him sane. Today was an unnecessarily unlucky day. It’s like some god was ticked off and decided to charge him with the strangest inconveniences. He wondered if there really was a god of misfortunes.

He licked his tusks and stood up straight. He parted his lips to perhaps lie but he felt like that would make things much, much worse. Jumall scowled at himself, annoyed that these situations were making him feel so puny, like he couldn’t fend for himself. But he just happened to be somewhere where he really shouldn’t cause any issues, along with him just wanting to rest for the night. Honestly the next few nights, because he was fatigued and hungry.

His eyes darted around as they adjusted, and he soon realized that he was in a forge. That made him look quizzically at the shop owner. A young damsel? Maybe she’s the owner’s daughter, seems too prim and proper.

Jumall glanced back at the door before stepping forward into better lighting, since there was a small fire in the furnace next to him. At least she could see his face clearer, which would give him a better chance at not being yelled out the place. Jumall didn’t care much for looks besides keeping clean, but he knew that being attractive adding to your chance at being…accepted, for lack of a better term. Most non-orcs found orcs kind of repulsive but his human side added some weight in his face.

Unfortunately he had almost zero skill at charming, so all he could manage was to force himself not scowl, or to sound annoyed, which he very much was.

“…I’m hearing a strange sound, like a song or ringing, but it sounds…like it was only partially in our world.” Or maybe my ears need tuning, he thought.

The sound continued, right up until she set down the wineglass she had been holding. Jumall stepped back, astonished. And a little suspicious, wondering if it was some trickery for the unwary.

“Do you try to enchant all your customers, then?” He narrowed his eyes. Another fraud.

 

[Clorinthanys]

Clori gaped incredulously at the newcomer. The accusation truly astonished her, given her credibility. Luckily her expression was hidden inside her cloak but she could tell he had noticed the shift in her because a smile played on his lips. The elf clutched her throne, a faint creaking noise developing. She had an affinity for metal magic, and the rare times her emotions got he best of her…let’s just say it was best for no living being to present.

Not that he could possibly get a rise from her. He was truly a flea compared to her, all orcs were. A brutish, barbaric flea.

She lifted her chin slightly. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.” Clori rubbed her thumb on the glass, which caused the ringing. “Simply a tune to…invite the god of slumber, I suppose…”

She took another sip of the dark liquid. “Maybe we should start with names, since you apparently have no purpose…entering my shop.”

Clori clasped her cloak before standing, so she wouldn’t be too revealing. She was definitely shorter than him but her might was still apparently. She gracefully walked towards, her footsteps like snowflakes falling onto the ground.

She walked over to a cupboard full of normal to exotic wines, some in languages she could barely decipher. Most of them were trades, since many of her customers knew of her strong fondness for drinks, which she would gladly exchange for a service if it was worthy enough. This black drink was something from one of the pirate regions. It had two names: the common one, Black Shiner, and the original…Pathymeris’ Tongue, named after an ancient serpent that was said to roam to lands long, long ago, way before her great-grandparents’ time as elves. The wine was said to have an inkling of the worst venom, and maybe Clori like testing death.

Clori ran her fingers over some of the other wine labels before turning to face him. She slowly removed her hood, watching him curiously. “I am Clorinthanys. I am the blacksmith of this business. If you’re plagued by inquires, do share.”

 

[Jumall Ugmagut]

Jumall clenched his fists. Elves were known for their devious nature—or was that the fae, the pixies? It hardly mattered, honestly, because they looked so much alike. Pixies were smaller but they still had that high and mighty attitude that most elves didn’t hesitate to throw his way, just because he was part orc. Honestly, it was probably just because he wasn’t an elf.

He had faced this judgment his entire life, starting with the blight orcs. The thought of them made him scrunch up his face, almost in pain. His tribe had been forced to live in the outskirts of Molthal because of the meatheads. He wasn’t surprised about his family in particular, given that his orc mother had decided to mate with a human and inherently curse his chance at life from the start, since many could care less for half-breeds.

Jumall’s tribe in particular didn’t care much for slaves, at least he was but a babe. They preferred hunting and taming beasts. His tribe had wanted to leave but they were bound because one of their ancestors had made a deal with the dreadful Menalus, or at least one of his minions. Jumall and his siblings were born outside of the deal so they were able to leave once they were of age, which was only a few years ago, but regardless the young lad harbored deep displeasure for anyone who was proud to come from those lands, or spread it’s poison.

Even though elves could be quite arrogant even Jumall had to respect them and their race’s accomplishments. The one before him created all the pieces that he was seeing right now, and there were of excellent craftsmanship. If he had the money he would definitely invest in a shield…or maybe those bows and arrows he saw peeking out of a barrel. They probably weren’t finished because elves liked to display their creations like fine art exhibits, not in something more crude. Just like how she was displaying the wineglasses she seemed to cherish.

The half-orc met her eyes finally when she pulled down her hood. Of course she was gorgeous, all elves were, but he hadn’t met one so graceful who happened to also be a blacksmith as well. Honestly Jumall found it hard to believe she was one, at least for this shop. Many can use magic to forge armour and weapons, but it would never amount to something that was entirely by hand, given the nature of mana in their world. She didn’t necessarily look frail, but definitely not like she participated in anything that required elbow grease. But then, what did she have to gain by lying?

“Clor—Clorinanties—“ That definitely didn’t sound right but he didn’t care much at the moment. “If this is your shop, how did you forge these things? What do you use, I see no pulleys or other contraptions. Do you have a partner, perhaps? You’re just…”

Well, he didn’t want to be blasted out the building, so he tried to watch his tongue. He wanted to implore about the tune more but he felt like it was best to leave it alone for now. As far as he could tell he was perfectly fine, except for some minor confusion.

 

[Clorinthanys]

Her eyes narrowed a centimeter. “Clorinthanys.” A long time ago she would’ve done something despicable because of his insolence, perhaps by shoving one of his hands into one of her furnaces, or accidentally dropping armour that hanged from her ceiling. But over the decades she had become more tolerant of the ignorance of citizens here.

If he was a citizen. The boy, who still hadn’t introduced himself, didn’t act like the rest of the commoners. He had an air to him that made Clori feel like he had experienced some dark things, even if he managed to act like a fool either way. Having a business, especially in these parts, made one learn to discern the people they interacted with well, or risk being charmed by sad stories or wonderful fantasies. This half-orc looked like he didn’t have the will to fake his despair.

Clori clasped her fingers behind her. “I have created every piece your eyes gaze upon.” She removed her cloak one side, exposing her left arm. The elf held it near a lantern, the light emphasizing its muscular nature, which seemed to contradict her unassuming presence. “Like I have said, I am the blacksmith.”

The elf paused, her ears twitching slightly as she honed on sounds that were barely audible. A faint smile played on her lips.

“How long do you plan to hideaway?”