Private Tales To Err is Human

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Volker

The Man of a Thousand Souls
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Volker liked mountains, but the Spine was proving to be a formidable opponent. He was picking his way carefully up an incline, tracking mountain goats far more spry than he. Volker was older, but strong, with bright blue eyes that scanned the rocks for his prey. He was burning quite a few calories on this little expedition; his arms burned with effort from pulling him over small ledges. His legs felt like gelatin. It was a good thing, and Volker liked work.

He put his foot on a flatter rock, and pushed upward to get another foothold. The rock held, for a few small moments...then slipped. Volker snarled as he slid backward, showering the hill beneath and behind him in gravel. If he hadn’t startled them before...he looked up to see the goat fleeing up a rock face. Damn! He bared his teeth and shifted to find another foothold. That gave instantly, and he felt his leg slide down between two rocks, catch, and something in his leg snapped.

An unholy roar ripped loose from him and he froze, clinging to the rocks. He squeezed his eyes shit, hissing through the pain. His leg. He eyed it. Broken. Volker slowly shifted, tears springing into his eyes from the pain, and sat. He tried to dig his leg out, but every time more small rocks filled in the hole.

His patron was silent. Oor might come and save him...in a few days, when he felt like it. Volker tugged sharply, and nearly passed out from the pain. He was quite definitely stuck.
 
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Mabess

Mother, Clanswoman, Chieftain of the Stormcallers
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Later.

A little white goat peered through the cracks in the crevice. It's ovals eyes takin in its familiar environment.
Me-e-ehh
It cried out a mere moment before darting across the hole as if Volker never was present there, to begin with.
It was not alone.
Heaving breathing and steps of a large mammal thrashed in the gravel above. It let out low snarls and grumbles before going completely silent.


It's four-eyed, feline head perked through the crevice as the goat before it.
It's long fangs glistened in the light that still passed through the mountain tops. The feline was ashen and dark, much larger, far larger than any other feline, as big as a horse in fact.
It took a step inside, pebbles sliding off from beneath it's feet.
It's snarled.

Someone whistled, and the feline's head snapped up in alertness. It's demaneor changed from agressive to attentive.
Someone whistled again. The feline roared.
On closer observation, the feline wore a harness. It was tame.


»Get here, Karaana, come here, here, here, here «
 

Volker

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Volker lifted his head at the sharp movement across the hole, baring his teeth. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. His leg throbbed in pain, and the bond was silent. He took that to mean his patron had left him to solve it himself. There were ideas from the peanut gallery; Aron suggested finding a stick to lever the stones away. That idea wasn’t a bad one...if he’d had a stick. There wasn’t a chance in hell of him using the knives. They were his livelihood. But knives did him piteous good if he died of exposure, Nestor wryly informed him.

He didn’t have time to think on it. A large cat poked its head up from the rocks. Wonderful. Volker sat upright and pulled a blade free. He wasn’t helpless. Just stuck. He snarled right back at the cat, baring his own much smaller teeth. Daring it to get close enough to be turned into a rug and emergency rations.

He filled his lungs and roared, hoping to either startle it into action or get it to leave him be. The harness he didn’t like...not all orcs were friendly. A majority of them weren’t. He didn’t like the idea of fighting a man on top of the cat.
 

Mabess

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A hand reached for the reins. Grooming the feline and messing with its cheeks. It was a younger orc woman draped in a panther's pelt. Half her head was shaven, the other tied in a braid.
»Come Kara, when I call you- «
Ubabe tilted her head right into the crevice from where a laboured yet clear shout of a man came. Her eyes narrowed, the ash leopard crouched, snarling once more.
Finally, she spootted him.
»Mabess, ger here. There's a man.«
 

Volker

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There was more than one person. Volker snarled again at the leopard and the man who held its leash. Two people and a cat. He could take the cat or the people but it was very unlikely he could take three at once. He was dehydrated and hungry. He snapped his teeth. If they were slavers he wasn’t going to go easily.

He clawed at the rocks holding his leg, and yanked. He got free, but he was on the verge of blacking out. His leg was swollen, and very clearly broken, but he made a half attempt to stand. That didn’t work. He fell and slid a few feet, stopping himself by burying his blade in the soil.
 

Mabess

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The other she-orc showed her head, lush from thick brown locks with a crown of teeth upon her head.
»He's a feisty one, « the older orc replied, taking a better look at him.

Pained, strained, perhaps sweaty or just dirt? Some kinda fever? No,
»He's injured quite badly, « Ubabe pointed out.
»Sheeha! Get here, « shouted Mabess with a sense of urgency to her voice. Another massive feline began to shift its body in the distance as a result.

Ubabe on the other hand stepped closer to see if the man was still to move.
»Hey there, do you understand us? « she spoke out in a common tongue of these parts. »Are you okay? «
 
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Volker

The Man of a Thousand Souls
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Volker settled his back against the gravel and rocks behind him. He couldn’t run. He could barely walk. By the looks of two orcs and two cats, he was also severely outnumbered. He lowered his head on his shoulders, tucking his chin down to protect his throat like a threatened leopard might have. He snapped his teeth.

“If you are slavers or mean to harm me, I will not come quietly.” He warned, his shoulders tensing as the first approached. He looked at her suspiciously. He hadn’t understood a word of what they were saying. He held the knife lengthwise in front of him, preparing to strike out at her if she touched him.

Volker didn’t like to be touched, by friend or foe alike. His eyes flicked from one to the other, taking a deep breath to try and control the dizzy feeling in his skull.
 

Mabess

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Ubabe slid through the crevice and crouched before the place where it got too steep to hold onto, »We were slaves once, we would not let another living being suffer such a life.«

»But you can't stay here,«
Ubabe tried to reach him, but it was too dangerous.
She turned her head back and barked in orcish. »Sheha, give me your rope.«
 

Volker

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Volker quieted a bit. Women who had been slaves usually were a bit more empathetic. It didn’t mean he dropped his guard entirely, but he did need help. Especially if his patron was too busy sipping wine to bother helping him. Oor had never liked his dogs to come whining to him at the first sign of injury.

Volker sheathed the knife and waited for them to throw the rope. A lasso, more like. He put it around his waist, tightened it, and held on. It was going to be painful. Gods, would this hurt. He braced himself, winding the rope around his arms and grasping it tightly.
 

Mabess

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Ubabe was strong enough to pull him up for a good deal. Even though she was lithe in build, the renowned might of orcs would still shine through.
Mabess stepped forth to grab at the lasso as well and Volker began to slide upslope.
Lastly Sheeha, the third of the party with hair as unrily as a wildcat, grabbed him by the shirt to drag him through the crevice, prefferibly without cutting him up against the stone.
 

Volker

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The pain struck the minute they pulled. Volker’s eyes went wide and the creeping dizziness folded neatly over his head, as though someone had thrown a blanket over him. He went limp and passed out the moment someone grabbed his shirt. His leg was swelling, and clearly needed to be set.

Volker was stuck in his own head, which wasn’t the best place to be. Whenever he slept, or passed out, he was thrown into the Well. The Well was a deep, dark room of pitch black in his head, ringed above by shards of mirror that represented his memories. It also wasn’t exactly a lonely place.

“Wonderful. You’ve passed out. I suppose we’ll wake up somewhere trussed up like a turkey.” Nestor glared at him. Nestor was his ancestor, a few dozen generations back, and couldn’t look more different. Where Volker was short Nestor was tall. Where Volker was plain, Nestor was handsome. The bookish remnant was only a soul trapped as all the others were, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. “That leg needs tending. If we have to cut it off that’s a quick trip to you ending up in here.”

“They will not amputate it.” Volker groused, sitting down. All that was left was to wake up.

“Suit yourself, Oor won’t be happy with you laid up.” Nestor said lightly.
 

Mabess

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Narmashan.

Red light hit the edges of the adobe wall. Cracked and with mountain grass still sticking out.
Shadows of poles would lead to beams that occasionally jutted across the roof. From them hanged many fetishes, baubels and tally sticks either marked of left bare.

It was the shaman's hut on further glances. Unles every orc lived surrounded by herbs and spices of the inedible kind.


Movement was impossible. Volker was weighted down by a bear's pelt that so far did a great deal on soaking up the sweat so the man would have not chilled to death in the mountain cold.
The leg was splintered and fastned to the body and greasy from the healing salve of unknown origin.
The salve felt frigid cold regardless.
 

Volker

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Volker was able to pull himself out of the Well a few hours later. He felt the heavy pelt on his chest, keeping him warm in the mountain air. He eyed the hut. Herbs and fetishes hung from the ceiling, and when he slowly sat up...he had no clothes on. Volker immediately felt uncomfortable, and not just from the throbbing in his leg. He did not like to be nude unless privacy was completely assured. Knowing someone had seen him like this...had seen the deep wound in his chest that sunk all the way to his sternum...was disquieting to say the least.

But there it was, his master’s mark for the world to see. An ugly jagged rift exposing his breastbone, about the size of a palm. Not to mention the extensive scarring on every inch of his body. Bites, claw marks, old arrow and cross bolt wounds, the slices of a blade. Even old ligature marks on his wrists.

Volker blinked drunkenly and looked for his clothing. He found them folded up and immediately grabbed his shirt, yanking it over his head. His pants...he pulled the fur back to look at his leg. There wasn’t a chance in hell of getting that through a pant leg. He made a soft noise of distress and bared his teeth. He did not like this.

His knives.

His knives were gone.

The weapons tied to his curse. Panic rose in his throat. He couldn’t get up to find them.
 

Mabess

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The moment he reached for his clothes, a stick thwacked him hard on the wrist.
»YOU BROKE YOUR OWN DARN LEG, DON'T MAKE ME BREAK YOUR ARM TOO, « wheezed Gorsgoya before laughing like a madman.
The whip belonged to an aged she-orc. Gray and wrinkly. Her smile was gummy and she held one eye partially shut.
»Have no shame, you're like the day you were born, ain't a deer that came to this world wearing a cape and trousers.«
 

Volker

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Volker’s hand was cracked the minute he reached for his shirt. He bared his teeth and snarled at the old orcess, a fearsome hiss guttering in the back of his throat. That shirt was his. He was even more uncomfortable being naked with someone in the room.

“I want to be dressed.” He growled at her. “My leg is the only thing injured. You do not need to see everything.” He reached for his shirt again, fully intending to grab the stick if she attempted to smack him again.
 

Mabess

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Gorsgoya let out a hearty chuckle »Your poor clothes would have soaked you up in your sweat and then you would have frozen to death. « She would have obviously smacked again, with full intent.
»You will get new clothes later, better clothes. «
 

Volker

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She smacked his hand again and this time he grabbed for the stick. “I do not want new clothes. I want my clothes. I must return to my camp.” He said. “I am grateful to you for setting my leg. But I will need my knives returned to me.”

Volker planted a hand and made a genuine attempt to rise from a sitting position. He growled at the pain. He didn’t want to be naked nor disarmed.
 

Mabess

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»Nonono-no-no! You will stay put until you can walk again.« Gorsgoya would attempt to push Volker back in place.

»Don't make me get the muscle!«
 

Volker

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Volker edged away from her, avoiding her touch and attempting to keep the furs in place. He growled, laying down again. He hurt. His leg was set but it ached. It was like he’d submerged it in a vice and it was just squeezing every nerve there.

“Fine. I am laying down.” He growled at the old orcess. “Give me my knives back. I will not harm you but those I cannot lose.” He felt so much anxiety just not knowing where they were.
 

Mabess

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Gorsgoya was pleased as Volker calmed, as relatively as he could.
Progress is still progress to her mind!
»Don't you worry, us Ashlanders know what a trusted weapon is to a man's soul. «
The She-Orc would then try to tuck in Volker well. Grab an even bigger bear pelt and cover him up in it as well.
She didn't quite trust the comperatively slim human body to withstand the cold night.
The sun was already behind the western mountains.
It was darker than the time suggested. »Anything else you want? «

One of the she-orcs from before stepped by the exit, she knocked on the wall. It was the one with the half-shaved head.
»Gorsgoya, can I enter?«
 

Volker

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Volker took the bear pelt but seemed nervous about the idea of being tucked in. He hissed at her several times when she got too close for his liking, and pulled the second Bear pelt close up around his neck to hide. Eventually he burrowed under it entirely, flopping it over his head like a strange cloak.

He was cold. He shivered a bit and pulled the bear pelt closer. He lifted his head when the other orc inquired entry; one of the ones from before. As much as he hated the idea of two people in the room when he was naked, he nodded. “Enter.” He muttered. “I need my knives back. They cannot be far from me.”
 

Mabess

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Gorsgoya seemed more amused than distraught about this strange man. Quite the character.
»It's I who governs this house, « she wheezed, waving at Ubabe to step in.
»Oh you, will you quit it, the sooner you behave the sooner you'll be on your way, « Gorsgoya remarked upon the knives once more.

The younger she-orc seemed a little less amused.
»...«
»I brought you some food.«
 

Volker

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Volker looked at the older she-orc. He didn’t understand the hovering and worrying. He definitely didn’t trust her. She’d set his leg and he could deal with the pain, but he was still worrying about his patron. Oor wouldn’t be pleased to find him in bed being spoon fed by women.

Not that he was particularly pleased about it either. He hesitated, the denial of food on his lips. Never eat anything you haven’t prepared yourself. The lesson rang in his head, but his stomach snarled. Why would they fix a broken leg only to poison him? Who would waste the food?

He nodded begrudgingly. “Thank you.” He held out a hand for the food.
 

Mabess

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Ubabe set the bowl to his hand, only letting go when he held a firm grim on it.
»...It's venison, ... stew with some rabbit and fat. - And roots. And bones, but those were removed.«
The soup was thick and of an appealing deep brown colour.
It had plenty of chunks in it
»But if you want some marrow...-« Her voice seemed to raise to a more pleasant tune as she began to inquire, not quite finishing her sentance.

Gorsgoya on the other hand set up some bedding on the floor and began to inhabit it.
 

Volker

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Volker took the bowl, and smelled it. He took a small bite, cautiously rolling it around his tongue. There weren’t any strange smells or tastes. Nothing off. No weird numbness or tingling. When he swallowed, no cramping. He waited a few minutes, but all he felt was his stomach roaring for more. He obliged it, bolting down the bowl like a starving dog. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

He didn’t leave anything in the bowl. “I do not mind bones.” He told the orc with the half shaved head. He offered the bowl back to her, licked clean. “The old woman will not give me my clothes.” He groused, eyeing Gorsgoya. Wonderful, they were sleeping in the same room. There was a first for eberything.

Rheinhard Volker. You are?” He asked Ubabe.