Private Tales To Kill a Mocking Orc

[Hath Charosh]

"Oh you don't know warmth up here," he retorted. "When I was told it was a pleasant day I was still clinging tight to my furs. Back home in the dry season it gets so hot than in the middle of the day the sun can kill you if you do not find shade."

He frowned at her story. In a way it was no so dissimilar, though his brother had not yet been handed the mantle of responsibility. Hath imagined that it would be a heavy burden to bear.

Bathyr could enjoy his life now, but his time to lead would come. Hath thought his younger half brother was likely better suited for it. He was an example to the other orcs, a creature of power. He made his decisions quickly and rarely looked back on them.

"I have not strayed East of the mountains. Is molthal as grim as it looks from the peaks?"

 

[Lagakh]

She decided that she would have to take his word for it, knowing in her heart that if she had any modicum of control over her fate, she would never ended up in the West. It wasn't a place that the Shadowreavers often spoke of and while there were likely members who had been there before, it clearly wasn't worth the oral recollection.

Pulling her legs towards herself, she sat up in the chair and rested the nearly empty tankard against the rounded arm of the chair. Molthal was not a topic suited for lazing about.

"More so." She replied, dragging her eyes away from the depths of the fire to inspect Charosh. He was a big Orc, far bigger than her and more so than most she could recall of her tribe. She, of course, had reasons for her smaller stature compared to other Orcs. But she still pondered on the half again size of Bathyr and how cumbersome that must have been. She had decided that Charosh thought too low of himself.

In this light, with the strange play of fire and shadows cast from his tusks across his cheek bones, he wasn't nearly as unappealing as he imagined. Quite the opposite.

"Smoke stacks belch out clouds of black, day and night, like massive blades of obsidian rippling in water." She pulled her eyes away, feeling at the bone gauge at her bottom lobe. "The clang of steel and anvils goes on and on, grating and endless. Their heat isn't like what you might think. It's nothing to welcome, not even for someone as thin skinned as you." She smirked, lip pulling back at her tusk - though it was hardly worthy of that name, given its size. "It's oppressive. You sweat and sweat but there is no wind, just hot gusts of air that remind you of whatever forge is nearby. And they're countless."

She shook her head, staring towards the flame but at no specific area in general. "I've only been there three times. It took everything I had to not kill every Blight Orc on sight."

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath was already forced upright by the chair, but he turned from the fire to face Lagakh when she altered her posture. The cheek turned towards the blaze was quickly warmed by its light.

The fire almost helped to conjur a vivid imagining of Molthal from the ground. Almost, but not quite. From the Eastern slopes he has seen stacks of smoke rising from seemingly barren lands. The world had never looked so small to him.

Hath had always assumed the spine was closer than it was. It jutted so high that it could be seen from great distances. Yet it was only when you were at the foot of the mountain range that you could truly appreciate its magnitude.

He nodded slowly. It was a good job she had not gone into a frenzy given the numbers of blight orcs. She likely would have been roasted over those fires of industry and never seen again by her people.

"I have met several mages on my travels," he said, turning a corner in their conversation. "Some as powerful in a different way. I have never met one as fierce as you, Lagakh."

 

[Lagakh]

Between her travels and the culture of her tribe, she couldn't recall the last time someone had taken the time to compliment her. On the mountains of the Spine, friends were few and far between and rarely anything beyond temporary. In her village, there was the unyielding sense of fate and destiny. The person someone was, it was simply a matter of things being the way they were meant to be. There was no need for compliments; it was as fruitful as congratulating water on being wet or for the rain pouring hard.

Narrowing her gaze, she did all she could do to fight off the reddening of her cheeks. If it had happened, it was likely a result of the heat on the fire and nothing more.

Feeling her free hand curve into a fist, she propped her elbow on the arm of the chair closest to Charosh. Setting her cheek against her fingers, she looked to Charosh with a tone that hinted at suspicion and intrigue.

"Tell me about some of them..." She had no frame of reference. All Shadowreavers were fierce in combat, if not limited entirely by talent or training. "The mages you have met."

 

[Hath Charosh]

"The shamans of my own tribe would not likely have magics of great interest. They use them to provide advice to the leader of the tribe. They make small wards from bone and I know they must work magic because they can make them into keys for the portal stones."

The corner of his lips twitched upwards as he recalled a particular event.

"If old Damarth was ever questioned he liked to cause a ripple of thunder in the air to silence everyone."

Hath sat forwards, propping his elbows on his knees. There were quite a few he had met, but a much smaller fraction had ever shown him their power.

"Met a mage at Elbion. Don't know what he could do. Whilst there met a mage assassin. Found out what he could do the hard way. Had chains that he gave a life of their own, wore an unseen magical armour and drew a sword out of nothing that seemed to split the air itself."

 

[Lagakh]

He was right in expecting that she would have little interest in the prophets and those who would offer advice. If she were to take to her tribes belief with the utmost certainty, she wouldn't understand their toils and labor. Advice had little purpose when fate was decided.

The same could be said of a man who made ripples of thunders. Laga was a strong reinforcement scar caster but that didn't mean she knew only that class of magic. The battle mage of the shadowreaver required many tools for their trade.

But this mage assassin of Elbion piqued her interest, more than the other casters he spoke of combined. "Wow..." She exclaimed, shaking her head. "That is powerful combination magic...transmutation and alchemy, or maybe illusionary..." Her mind swam with ideas on how to replicate such a thing but immediately found the idea repulsive. As she spoke, her body had perked up as well.

But now it was back into a slump as she slid back against the couch of the seat. "That's half the fun of using clubs and magic...so the enemy can see you coming. And their realizing that they can do nothing to stop you." She was half joking. But also, half not.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Did feel like an illusion," Hath grumbled. He itched at an old scar across his chest. "For a mage he knew how to use a sword."

A grin spread beneath his tusks and he nodded towards the axe.

"He didn't see that coming though. Neither did I. Broke his magics and then Scabhair cut him down."

"Dont go to human cities," he warned suddenly. From a distance they had looked so grand, yet the crowds were even worse than their trading towns. Crowds made him anxious.

"Eugh, the stench."

 

[Lagakh]

Laga wasn't sure she could recall having ever gone to a place like a human city. Between Molthal and Crowbear Lake, she have never made it much further than Belgrath. And that was an incident she cared to forget. Orcs, blighted and otherwise, and dwarves were her companions.

But with how Charosh spoke of humans, it didn't seem like she was missing all that much.

"Perhaps your brother speaks too much..." Her tone had drifted low, to the tune of sotto voce, melodic if not approaching sleepy. "But I think you probably speak much better." The stories he told, the people he had known, his life and experiences. He had far more to bring to the table than she had.

Scooting to the corner of the chair, she looked on towards the dancing fire. Lifting her legs up, she brought her feet to the back of the seat and rested heavily on the arm. The length of her legs, from shin to toes, were still not long enough to cross the chair. "Bathyr...Biter...Scabhair...Illusionary mage assassins." Sleepily, her first rolled into an open palm, pressed against her cheek. The tankard fell to the floor, bouncing in a semi-arch as it left a trail of stout dribbles across the wooden boards.

"It's far different from my own life." She yawned, laughing mid way through as her face scrunched up. "Might assume a life of vengeance would be more...exciting."

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Huh."

A thoughtful frown settled on his brow. Once he had ranged further than any in his tribe. He had known where the savanna trolls lurked, where the elves drew the lines on their territory, where the human trade posts and roads were.

Now that expansive knowledge seemed quite... small. He wondered if Bathyr would seem smaller if he met him again to.

Hath realised that he had not even assumed that was a certainty. Kardidua had been worried that when he planned to set out to the Spine that he would not return. She had clearly been torn on the matter and Hath had never understood quite why. He didn't quite have the perspective to see the battle between the tribe leader and the mother. Those worries didnt seem as unfounded as they had then.

"Well...I like your magic more than any other kind I have seen," he said firmly. "Come, this place must have rooms. If we push together three of their beds we might even be able to sleep in them."

He cast a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone had heard before remembering he had slipped back into orcish some time ago. It occurred to him that her chair and the fire were probably even better.

 

[Lagakh]

"Something we have in common..." She yawned again, covering her mouth with the backside of her wrist. "I like my magic more than any other kind I've seen as well." She said with a warm smile as she stood, sleepily gazing back and forth between the fire and Charosh. She hesitated, knowing full well what sort of comfort she was leaving. The chair was large and warmed, supple and plump, cushioned in all the right places. But her neck ached at the thought of lounging in that all night and into the early morning.

Conversely, Charosh was right in that the beds were likely undersized and unaccustomed to the orcish height. Even one as meager as Laga. The beds were more than likely thatch or hay, bundled up in tarpaulin and fitted in cloth as rough as grit, and underlain by uneven or broken slats. Her back was likely to bemoan the situation, no matter how choice.

And her body still pulsed and pounded, thumping at the wounds that would never heal. She absentmindedly pressed her fingers against the angry scars against her neck, trailing down the center of her back beneath the fur lined linen blouse. Her skin was a litany of dimples and cuts, some covered and some brandished for all too see, but particular ones burned more fiercely than others.

"Alright." She thought towards picking up her tankard but the Inn was in a sordid affair, not likely to notice the dribbles of pewter. Instead, she turned on a heel and made her way back past the counter, turning up to quietly pad up the stairs.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath gave a shrug. Talking of his bow and its lack of an exciting story brought something to mind. If this one broke he would have to find out who fashioned the best bows in the Ashlanders. He could make a bow, but it wouldn't be so smooth on the draw. It would be like Lagakh trying to use an inferior form of rune magic to fight.

He did appreciate her ferocity and her magic. Particularly if it saved him weeks of healing. Orcs were a hardy people but he would have needed time to mend before drawing a bow or swinging his axe with his right arm. He also decided he appreciated the view as she made her way up the stairs ahead of him, but he was too sore and tired to entertain those thoughts right now.

"Should get a good breakfast too," he mused. With no sign of the innkeeper he tried a few doors until he found some with beds and no personal belongings. He figured those would be the inn's rooms and not the owners. Hath assumed that dwarf would keep his room locked and have even more trophies of his glory years.

 

[Lagakh]

She had no mind for humility or the obvious path that came with a hard fought battle and celebratory drinks. It seemed as much a part of the warriors way as it was a part of the Orcish culture. But her wounds ached and throbbed, even through the haze of her tired expression and the unshakable hold of lethargy. She hardly knew Charosh, though it didn't really matter all that much for her.

He spoke well and the long session of abrading sinewy muscle with fingernails wasn't the sort of activity to ward off such thoughts. But she had a likely long day ahead of her and sleep was needed more than anything else.

"Well if its anything like what we had for dinner..." The dwarves fought well and ate well, despite the outwardly shabby state of the mountainside mining town. Looking in as Charosh found an open room, she spied beds longer than expected. A room fit for two who weren't so romantically inclined. Considering the idea of looking for another room, she thought better of it to avoid interrupting anyone else that might have been partaking in the comforts of the inn.

"One on the left is mine." She declared firmly, pointing with a sharpened finger and stifled yawn. The room was rather spacious with half burned candles extending from roughly cut joists. Two stood erect towards the center of the room, properly halving the suite. The floorboards were wooden and creaked beneath every step. Laga spied wax piles on the floor and investigated her bed with a plop and a bounce. It was thatch as she expected with a single woolen blanket and a folded up blanket for a pillow.

Lifting her feet up onto the bed, she sprawled out with surprising ease. And yawned loudly.