Private Tales Stuff Like This Happens to Everyone

[Corvus]

He saw her bite her lip and smirked, shaking his head again. Beneath his helmet, he rolled his eyes. "Yes, and humble, too." Snorting, he watched her make sure the embers were going out and then was caught flatfooted by her simple statement. At least, until she clarified with the question.

"Only one way to find out, I guess."

 

[Scabhair]

“Indeed,” she agreed with a cant of her head, and took off without another word.

The dew clung in icy beads to the waves of grass, glinting like the spires of the Spine in the first light. Their steady footfall scattered them like pearls as they passed, boot after boot, paw after paw.

She’d only met a handful of people from the far east, and knew them as poorly as she knew the sea. Experience had taught her that only an elf could keep pace with an orc over long distances. During her travels in Amol-Kalit, where it was paramount to make headway during the cool hours, Scabhair had spent every night running across the desert, dusk to dawn.

 

[Corvus]

He knew, before they took off, that he could only keep up for a little. Stamina itself wasn’t necessarily the issue - you had plenty of it as a fighter - but it was a different kind of stamina.

Corvus had never really practiced running in his life, and so he had to adapt to what was comfortable as they went. But he knew, deep down, that once they got beyond the immediate and into the farther distances, that he would lag behind and likely wind up having to slow or even walk.

Not that Scalf would have that problem.

 

[Scabhair]

There was no malice to the challenge, and Scabhair had long outgrown the need to prove her worth. Doubly so when it came to strangers.

When it became clear that Corvus was starting to struggle, she adjusted her pace, kept abreast of the man, the lion, and the wolf.

And weren’t they a sight to behold.

They passed by a few farmers dragging their carts towards the city – a rich one even had an ox to do the work for him. It was Saturday, which meant a bustling market in the main square of each Allirian circle. There would be yelling and haggling aplenty; more importantly, there would be food.

Jerky was all well and good, but you couldn’t beat a fresh ham off the flame, still dripping sizzling fat.

This always happened when she ran long and hard. Damn this orcish hunger.

It was a good while until the spires of the merchant city appeared on the horizon, but at least the sight gave them a goal to focus on.

 

[Corvus]

Once she adjusted her pace, he managed to keep himself going at the slower speed. Though, by the time they were closing in on the city, he paused to vacate his mostly empty stomach onto the roadside.

He caught up with her, though, and seemed to catch a second wind from his throwing up. The spires were very much a goal, and soon the roads were filled with more than just a few farmers; merchants on horses, guard patrols, and all manner of traveling bands began to fill the road.

And damn if this wasn’t killer on his lungs. An entirely different kind of stamina; he might need to find a warm woman after this just to make sure he hadn’t somehow lost his ability to breathe.

But once they reached the gates they slowed, as guards filtered people through and into the bustling Saturday markets. Panting like a dog, the pair made a strange sight for sure, but for all his exhaustion he didn’t double over or otherwise let on that he was utterly winded; he just kept breathing hard under his helmet, like a mythical beast preparing to rush its prey.

 

[Scabhair]

She’d noticed him struggling – a tad difficult to miss a man that size puking on the side of the road – but she said nothing. It was hardly unusual for prolonged exhaustion. It happened to nearly every young orc on his first long hunt; happened to Scabhair, too.

It was strange to see a grown man go through it, but then – why would he be used to it? No use running around on a rocky island with snow up to your knees.

Before the roads got too dense with itchy guard patrols, Scabhair dismissed Inodeirr to the wilds. Or, rather, the lioness dismissed herself – she was so often in Alliria that her companion knew the song and dance already. The wolf looked enough like a dog that the men at the gates wouldn’t fret… too much.

Besides, plenty of the rangers had similar beasts of their own. It was certainly a more common sight than a giant lion trotting through the streets.

“Good day, Adden,” she greeted one of the sentries, and had the audacity to sound like she’d been on a brisk walk instead of a five-league run.

“Ryeine.” His eyes went to Corvus, who was gasping for air like a man drowning on land. “Putting a new recruit through the paces?”

 

[Corvus]

His back was straight, but there was no missing the sawing of breath in and out of his barrel chest. That didn’t stop him from grinning at the guard’s words.

“I’m not a recruit.” He says easily, without the firmness that would scream ‘I actually am on, and am being difficult.’

“I just didn’t expect her to wear me out when we woke up this morning.” It was a fight to get the words out, but he made it work. He was still grinning, though.

He loved being out of his comfort zone.

 

[Scabhair]

Hard to tell who laughed harder – Scabhair or the guard. Adden shook his head and waved them inside with a good-natured “Alright, alright.”

She chuckled again as they were pushed into the Outer city with the ever-stronger river of visitors ebbing towards the centre. It wasn’t long until she yanked him out of the flow of people and down a side alley that was practically empty compared to the main street.

“Not many men I’ve met that handle us well.” Or rather at all. The difference in their mating dynamics had been baffling when Scabhair had first entered human society proper. If an orc tried doing even half of what human men did to their wives, he’d end up with his dick on a skewer… if he was lucky, anyway.

Then again, orcish wives hit back.

 

[Corvus]

Pulled out of the flow, he was thankful to be out of the crowd. He’d never seen so many people in his life, and to say he was tense was putting it lightly.

Unsure if they were close to their destination or not, he almost didn’t register what she said. After that, it took another few minutes to process it properly.

“I? Oh.” It hit him like an orcish wife. “I suppose that’s true.” She was his height and just as strong. She likely broke most men. “Then again I think most human men wouldn’t be attracted to women taller and stronger than them.”

 

[Scabhair]

“Is it no different where you come from?” she asked, head canted to the side in curiosity. Sheketh was a world away, far from any influence of the human cultures in the west of Liadain and Epressa. “I find that the stupid ideas mostly come from cities. The nobles don’t work a day in their lives. Gives them time to concoct such foolishness, then poison the rest of the masses with their insipid ways.”

 

[Corvus]

“It is different.” He agrees, “Most consider our wives too burly, or fat, or plain. But firewood is important, and with the beasts and bandits roaming through the sparse homesteads, they need to be self sufficient too.”

He shrugs. “Beauty is always defined by the life the people lead. I’ve found comfort breeds an appreciation for appearance, and hardship for strength. But I’m unfamiliar with what nobility even is, and so I can hardly form an opinion.” He’d managed to stay under their proverbial attention so far, though he had heard plenty on them already.

He still wanted to meet them personally before passing judgement, however. What is seen doesn’t always encompass what there is.

“Cities...” He mutters, eyeing the crowds, “...no wonder they’re dens of thieves. You can’t see anything through the people.”

 

[Scabhair]

She hummed as he talked, but her eyes were on those same crowds he was watching with wary eyes. The Outer city was a great place to get mugged, gutted, and dropped into a ditch. Granted, between the two of them and the wolf, they hardly made for attractive targets.

“Looking dangerous enough is often enough of a deterrent,” she answered after a beat, leading him across another busy street as it cleared for a moment. “They love an easy mark, and we’re a far cry from that.”

“As for nobility…” she shrugged, ducking under a low archway. “My advice? Stay out of their way. Best for your health and theirs.”

Scabhair stopped in a small courtyard, uneven flagstones worn to a polish by three centuries of booted feet. Blooming cherry trees lined the nook, lending the place a strange sense of life amid the whitewash and wood. She captured one of the blossoms and leaned forward to bask in the fragrant scent for a moment.

“Neat trick to mask the stink of manure, innit?” Duarde grinned down at the trio from the narrow balcony above, a puff of smoke escaping his pipe.

“Major’s idea, back when he was still warming my seat. Downright brilliant, that lad. But—” he leaped down to their level with enough grace to suggest elven blood. “You aren’t here to listen to me blabbering about unimportant history. And we,” he turned to address the northman, “haven’t met. Yet. Lieutenant Duarde. Everyone calls me Captain, though.”

 

[Corvus]

Between his sword, his wolf, and his armor, he doubted thieves were going to attempt anything with him. Not that he would give up keeping an eye out for them. Enough inattention made anyone an attractive target.

Stopping in the courtyard, he eyed the trees suspiciously, as though they might conceal an ambush. His palm rested on the pommel of his longsword, and he frowned faintly when the voice spoke up.

When the elf landed - no, human - he narrowed his eyes for a moment then nodded. “We haven’t.” He agrees, offering a gloved hand to the Captain in the custom these people seemed to prefer. “Corvus. I spoke with your Sergeant while you were out - at least I think he said Sergeant.”

 

[Scabhair]

“Robyn or Xaclav? Ah, it doesn’t matter. They’re the same bar the tits.” He grinned wide and released Corvus’ hand in favour of unlocking the door. “Ryeine I’m guessing is here for that bandit bounty, but what can I do you for? Looking to join us or just for a job?”

The old lock caught a few times before a strong kick finally eased the mechanism into place. “Damn thing’s always getting stuck. Keep telling myself to buy oil and I keep forgetting.” He chuckled and led them inside, into a room that seemed surprisingly spacious for how crammed that courtyard was.

Rounding the table, Douarde settled into the chair and clasped his hands with an expectant smile.

Scabhair pursed her lips, unable to hold back the smile for more than a second.

“About that bounty…”

 

[Corvus]

Corvus was fine to let the Captain keep talking, following after him in silence. Well, as much silence as he could given his gear.

When Captain found his way to a desk and leaned forward, Corvus spoke up without hesitation. “I was sent on the same bounty.

She caught one trail, and I another, and so we wound up unintentionally helping the other clear out the camp.”

 

[Scabhair]

“Ah.”

Duarde steepled his fingers. Then he unsteepled them.

“Hm. And the reward…?”

“We’re all professionals here. Half and half.” Scabhair dropped a small canvas bag onto the table. It made a wet, squelching noise as it sagged. “The proof.”

Captain leaned forward, unlaced the mouth of the sack and carefully peered inside. In the next instant he recoiled, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I told you the last ten times, Ryeine, your word will do.” He scowled at the bag and waved it away. “I don’t need their damn ears.”

Scabhair just grinned as she packed it again. They made a nice treat for Ino. The wolf would probably enjoy them too.

“Half and half I can do. Didn’t think you’d get to it so soon, though, so…” he shot them both an apologetic smile. “Don’t have the coin on me right at this moment. I’ll have to run over to the bank, and you know what Accauoli & Goudsmyd’s like…”

“Puckered up tighter than Tharte’s arsehole?”

He snorted. “Don’t let the guards catch you saying that shit, Ryeine. Liable to land you on ice for a night. But yes, you’ll have to come back tomorrow, after I brave those cold marble floors for you.”

“I’m sure Corvus will be touched,” she replied with a smile of her own, then clasped his forearm. “I’ll hold you to that, Duarde. Tomorrow at dawn.”

He ushered them out with a few more assurances, and then they were alone with the din of the city again.

 

[Corvus]

Corvus didn't understand half of what they said, if only because they referenced things he was wholly unfamiliar with. But, by the time they were back outside and in the city - rather than the Ranger's abode - he looked to Ryeine with a confused furrow of his brow.

"What's a bank?" He asks, looking around with lips snarled by annoyance.

He hated not knowing things. "They're certainly not storing their money in the dirt by the river." Because of course that's what a man growing up in the mountains would think a bank was, obviously.

"Know anywhere with good beds to sleep in? If I'm in a city I may as well enjoy it."

 

[Scabhair]

Scabhair laughed long and loud at his words, clapping him on the shoulder. “No, no they’re not. It comes from Mantessant’. The word.” She led him, grinning, back through the streets, a place already in mind. “And the idea, I suppose. They’re big buildings that safekeep your coin in exchange for the permission to borrow it for their business ventures. A bad bank might squander all your money with poor investments. A good one will make you richer.”

She shrugged, turning down another alley to avoid the morning crowds. Even this far from the sea, hungry gulls were cawing and circling the sky, hunting for a dead fish or a scrap of food. Avoiding their airborne crap was an art unto itself.

“Telling them apart, though… that’s the difficult bit. Anyway, here we are.”

Here happened to be little more than a door. Layers and layers of black paint in various stages of aging peeled from the wood, and above it swayed an unobtrusive brass sign.

“Ranger’s Retreat. Pretty much what it says on the tin.” She pushed inside, into that gloomy half-dusk that clung about taverns with no windows. This early it was mostly empty still, though a few men and women were dotting the benches, nursing a remedy for last night’s drinking.

 

[Corvus]

"That sounds.... ill advised." He mutters darkly, wondering just how many people had lost their wealth because they'd decided trusting someone else with their money was better than trusting yourself. Then again, they dealt with a lot more coin than Sheketh had even seen, so he supposed he shouldn't be throwing stones.

Blinking when he realized they had actually reached a destination, his eyes narrowed. This was exactly the kind of place you were meant to miss, and that suited him just fine. He didn't need jumpy Allirians trying to start a brawl because they found his furs and leather offensive, or his 'tone' confrontational. It wasn't his fault his words were accented.

It was entirely their fault for not dealing with it. Following her in, Scalf looked around, ears flat, and then saw a fire burning in a hearth to one side. Padding over, he dropped himself down to warm, and Corvus looked for a place to sit with a decent view of the door.

"They got good ale?" He asks Ryeine.

 

[Scabhair]

Two sloshing tankards clinked onto the table by way of her answer before she settled down opposite the man, a crooked smile on her face. “For a given value of good. I’m not much of a drinker, but here in the city it’s safer than the water by a long stretch.”

She’d seen men puke up their guts after sipping from the urban wells. And that was if they got lucky. The worst of it came out the other end, and shitting herself to death certainly wasn’t the way Scabhair wanted to go.

“I assume you brew it stronger where you’re from?”

 

[Corvus]

"I'd heard that..." He admits, reaching up to remove his leather helmet and set it on the table. Taking up the tankard, he gulped down the, far thirstier than he'd realized. By the time he was done, he could feel liquid and froth on his beard, and ran the back of his forearm over his mouth.

Momentarily unsure if he was going to burp or not, he waited a moment, then responded... after burping. "Some do, some don't." He grunts, "It definitely tastes different. I suppose I'll know 'stronger' or not in a bit. Do orcs make ale? Or do you brew something else?" The dwarves did. Elves did too. Stood to reason orcs would as well.

 

[Scabhair]

Far more sparing with her own drinking, Scabhair leaned deeper into the shadows of their corner before shrugging a shoulder to his question.

“Some do, some don’t,” she echoed with half a smile, silver eyes meeting his for a brief moment. “You need crops to brew the good stuff. And to grow crops you need to stay in one place for a very long time.” A long time to an orc, at any rate. “Most of the tribes I know travel too much for that, but there’s a few over in Liadain that make a mushroom ale of some sort.”

Talk about a different taste.

“It helps they get more sun, too. Speeds up the fermentation.” She nodded to Corvus and her tankard both before tipping the drink more generously down her throat. “Best I’ve ever had, though… probably Bakatlani beer. We’re going the wrong direction for that, though.”

It was, quite literally, on the other side of the world.

 

[Corvus]

“I’ve never heard of any of that.” He admits, perplexed by her in ways he couldn’t truly explain. Were silver eyes common among orcs? Red hair?

And why did it seem to turn a deep shade of crimson in the candlelight? He was momentarily concerned he was getting romantic but he belatedly realized his life had seen him surrounded by humans, and ones that all tended to look the same.

Fair hair. Fair skin. Thin but strong, and often short. He was an oddity among his people, but was she one among hers?

After a moment, he shook his head to clear the thoughts from it. “How often have you found work here?” He asks after a moment, “The guards certainly knew who you were.”

Ale was small talk, and though she couldn’t follow his train of thought, she could get a hint of it from his questions.

 

[Scabhair]

“Mm. You wouldn’t have. Hell,” she gestured to the half-empty room, “most of Alliria hasn’t. I imagine it’s as far from here as Sheketh, only in the other direction. Head ever west, and you’ll eventually reach the golden spires of Bakatlan. The city of a thousand splendours at the mouth of the great Baal-Duru.” She smiled into her mug before setting it back down. “The city of a thousand bickering sultans, more like. But that’s Amol-Kalit for you. They replace their kings as fast as I replace my arrows.”

“Enough,” she hedged after a moment. “Mosty with the Rangers, though. My tribe helps them out when they face problems beyond the Reach, and in turn they leave our sacred grounds alone. You don’t get something for nothing in these parts, though. Even a farmer’s a master trader around here.”

“Mind, if you’ve want of mercenary work, Alliria’s a poor choice.” A grim smile curled her lips. “Bakatlan. That’s the one you’re looking for.”

 

[Corvus]

"Maybe I'll go there after we head north." He remarks.

Taking another, more measured gulp of ale, he considered her words and leaned in. "Tell me of this Amal-Kaleet." He says, eyes narrowing.

"Or, Baka... whatever. I assume they're pretty much the same place." He couldn't read, nor write, but he could swing a sword. So if there was a place to make coin doing that, he wanted to know where it was.