Fable - Ask Traversing the Fringe [Sardok]

[Sigrith]

Northwest of the Spine
Entering the Fringelands

"Highlands" by Alexander Pohl​

Fleet paws clipped across mossy terrain, a drifting shadow among a landscape of green beneath an overcast sky. The winds had picked up over the course of the day, bringing the promising smell of rain with them as well as the forboding scent of travelers on her path. Sigrith traveled lands unknown, seeking a presence and a scent she'd long since lost. It was not her way to act in desperation, but every passing day that brought no hint of her target left her patience that much more unraveled and her heart a little bit heavier.

She resigned to traveling off the beaten paths, having found her current state to be off-putting for the locals, but these wayward prey trails took her days to cross what should have only taken hours. These lands did not speak a language she understood yet and it frustrated the witch to know she might have made far more progress were she not caught upon four paws instead of two feet.

Whatever it was that had separated herself from Sannoru and cursed her to walk the Summerlands in this form had been powerful. Ever so much more than she really knew.

But the winds had promised rain, and rain did they bring in a fresh spray from the west. Sigrith turned her head into it as she followed a footpath through the hills, her nose scenting a campfire some distance off and a fresh kill ripe for the taking...

Sardok

 

[Sardok]

FRINGELANDS

"Thank you."

The baritone of the Orc's voice sounded above the crackling fire. What laid before him was the result of patience and experience: a young deer that had fallen prey to one of his snares. His words were a simple gesture of gratitude, spoken earnestly for he now took from nature. As his elders once taught, theirs was a path that moved in step with the natural world. Thus, one should give thanks when taking from it.

So it was that Sardok gave thanks before plunging his knife behind the deer's skull. The death was as swift as he could provide. From thence, he worked to skin his prey so that a suitable meal could be prepared. For several minutes, his humble camp was relatively quiet. Save for the occasional grunt of effort, the sound of his knife moving, and the sound of branches burning.

When all was said and done, Sardok had skewered the deer and situated it above the flame. It was a good thing that he had done so rather quickly, for the smell of rain soon reached his nostrils. By the time the first droplets graced his brow, the meat was ready to consume and a delicious aroma filled the air. He tore a piece of flesh free from the skewer and took a satisfying bite.

Only to realize that he was no longer alone.

The Orc did not move just yet, but was keenly aware of Helmsplitter resting at his side.

"Who goes there?"​

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

Eyes the color of the tundra's northern lights peered through the underbrush of the tree line. Young saplings dotted her path for some ways now, growing in depth and size as she neared the forest that hugged the Fringeland peaks and valleys. In the dimming light of day, she'd seen a stack of smoke snaking upward from the darker treetops to linger among the fading sky - a ghostly serpent wending its way through the peeking specks of stars before dispersing into the high winds.

Despite the rain, it was still quite warm. At least to the wolf that moved in on approach, following her nose through the thicket, it felt much warmer than what she was accustomed to. This was summer weather in the lands of the Eretejva tundra. Days when the dry chill of the frigid north gave way to balmy rains for but a blink of only a month or two. Soft earth and green like this ... felt almost like a dream.

She pressed through the trees, the black of her fur melding among the shadows, until at last the light of the campfire danced between the trunks. Sigrith smelled the blood of a deer and its cooking meat and immediately began to salivate. Hunger drove her presently more than she'd ever admit, especially when her time had consisted of finding her way beyond the reach of the locals instead of hunting.

A snap of a branch echoed from behind the orc.
A shrill bird cry sounded from his left.
The campfire crackled as fat dripped into the flames.
In the shade of the forest, two mismatched eyes watched him patiently.

 

[Sardok]

FRINGELANDS

Above all else, the beast of sage complexion listened.

His mouth moved slowly so that the collision of canines against flesh would not obstruct his hearing. After uttering his question, for a moment, all he heard was the sounds of the forest and of his camp. The flame. His meal. The rain. Nothing seemed too out of place. And then, the signs began to manifest themselves.

It began with the crack of a twig behind him.

Followed closely by the flutter of wings.

Instinct saw the Orc turn from where he was seated, placing his dark gaze upon the brush. He listened all the more intently, attempting to make out the telling clatter of steel plates or swords bouncing against a waist. He found no such signs of imminent violence, yet instead found a pair of piercing eyes. His eyebrow rose for but a moment whilst he stared.

Until the ancestors whispered in his ear. Such was their way. Were it mankind in the brush, those who empowered the shaman would have remained silent until called upon. Yet, when nature reared its head, the ancestors were far more vocal. In this, they urged but one thing. Caution. For something was amiss. Something was out of place.

Sardok sighed. Always cryptic were they.

Slowly and deliberately, the Orc pried a piece of meat from his skewer and held it towards the eyes.

"After a meal eh?" he assumed, as much forest creatures actively avoided fires. "I don't mind sharing."

If it didn't mind not trying to kill him.​

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

Orc.

Reflexively she felt her hackles flare as his scent lingered in to her snout now that she was so close. Sigrith had very little knowledge on his kind, though she'd encountered them numerous times on the road that had brought her here. Mostly she'd avoided them as much as she did the other land dwellers, but sometimes it simply wasn't possible. Orcs reminded her curiously enough of her own people; from their physique to their nomadic way of life ... though the green skin had yet to settle on her mind as anything approaching normal.

A low rumble issued forth from the beast, an anxious warning if nothing else. She'd meant to scare him off from his fire and claim his meal. He was alone which made him far less of a challenge than any band of orcs she'd crossed thus far. But the orc hadn't balked and hadn't budged, a sure enough sign of his own confidence ... or perhaps stupidity, but Sigi didn't like to assume the intelligence of others.

Her nose inched forward first, scenting the proffered meat, followed by the pink of a tongue passing over her maw. Slowly, the dire wolf stepped forth, gaze intently watching her quarry as she strained to reach the offering. Another tentative step and she quickly snapped her jaws around the morsel, quite likely catching his fingers in the process, and retreated back to the safety of the trees to devour it in as few bites as possible.

It did not take long for those eyes to set upon him once again.

Still hungry.

 

[Sardok]

FRINGELANDS

At first, there was a rumble.

A warning. A threat. A sign of discomfort. The cacophony of potential violence could have meant any of those things. Sardok, however, remained unwavering. It was not due to bravado or hubris, mind. Simply an understanding of residing within the wood for so long. He would stand his ground and wait to see what the response of his words were.

And as the offering of meat hung in the balance, movement sounded. It was not an ambush or a rapid approach, but a slow, calculated one. Sardok witnessed a snout, followed by those same piercing eyes as they emerged from the brush. The overall form that he could make out was impressive. Canine surely, but...bigger. The spirits hissed in his ears, causing him to blink as the beast snapped its jowls about the meat.

His index finger was caught as well, causing him to suck his teeth. "Ah!" he said, shaking his hand to resolve the sting. "My fingers don't grow back ya hear?"

Sardok's complaint was meant to fall upon empty ears, yet the ancestors shared just a nugget of their wisdom. She understands they urged. The Orc lofted a brow inquisitively as he looked back upon the brush. And soon he saw those piercing eyes staring back - for the sound of meat being consumed was now over. Sardok chuckled.

"No handful is going to fill your belly." he said, before patting the earth beside him. "I'll share this with you, if you watch those fangs."

He didn't expect his visitor to understand his words, but the spirits were seldom wrong.

And when they were wrong, it was intentional.​

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

No, fingers didn't grow back usually, but she knew a few spells that could help with that. If only her current state were her natural one...

The beast remained, lingering in the shadows of the underbrush, watching the orc intently while he moved to retake his seat. His offer hung on the air like the fog of breath in the crisp twilight hours of the tundra. Silence followed, marked by the crackling of the fire and the continued occasional spatter of fat juices hitting flames. Sigrith considered her options carefully and after a length of time, the wolf pressed out from the safety of the underbrush. No longer hunched as she'd been, her oversized form shifted to fill the empty space between fire's edge and surrounding trees, deep ebony pelt gleaming with golden streaks that shone off the slick of rain in her fur.

She moved forward several feet, then took a seat away from him and not where he had indicated.

That trust did not exist for such proximity, but distance she could do.

 

[Sardok]

The orc's eyebrows hit the ceiling.

As the canine began to move from the brush, its size was quite larger than he anticipated. Fortunately enough, the wolf had decided not to rip his fingers off with his teeth - or worse. Instead, it settled down a few feet away from his offered spot. "Well I'll be." he muttered. One would think that years of listening to the spirits would have encouraged him to be more trusting.

However, sometimes, the spirits were right asses.

True to his word, the Orc leaned forward and clutched the deer. The heat of the fire and the cooked flesh did not seem to bother him at all as he broke bone with little effort. When it was all said and done, the kill had been rent in two. Sardok then leaned over and set the wolf's portion down as close to it as he could reach. "Now, if this doesn't fill you," he began, pausing to take a decent chunk out of his half, "I'm happy to cook another. Just need to sniff out another."

He then tucked in, tearing a juicy bite free. Then, the fire shuddered - as if some stray fat had been flung inside. Sardok was unphased, as he had been exposed to the spirits' antics before. Hell, he could see what was going on. From within the inferno bobbed a shimmering orb, typically invisible to the naked eye. Shamans could see the spirits just fine and some magically inclined mortals could as well. The ancestor then hovered closer to the wolf whilst whispering into Sardok's skull.

Can you not feel the suffering?

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

Keen eyes watched the process with level patience and interest. Having not expected such a share, the wolf's eyes pitched forward as it watched Sardok set its portion in the space between them. May a witch never turn down the generosity of a strange. Sigrith leaned forward from her seated position, rising faintly as she grabbed the meal and dragged it further back still.

With one last glance to her host she also tucked in; tearing meat, tendon, and cartilage from the roasted carcass. Not even the bones were spared but crunched open to clean them of marrow. She'd eased into laying down once the meat was gone to spend her time peeling sinew from a leg bone when the ancestral spirit decided to linger too close.

To the tundra witch, it appeared as a wisp of smoke that faintly glowed from within - something she was intimately familiar with even if this one happened to be alien to her. The wolf's ears cocked askance as she leaned to sniff at it, then snorted and frilled its hackles.

"I am not suffering," said the wolf with a rumbling voice, svelte yet harsh like the frigid plains of the land she called home, "I am hungry."

 

[Sardok]

Originally, the sage-skinned Orc had intended on ignoring the spontaneous appeance of the ancestor. Not out of a desire to be rude, mind. But out of a desire to fill his stomach without distraction. The kill had been the result of an annoying hunt, complete with almost getting stuck in a mudpit. Twice. Yet, then the ancestor hissed into his skull, it was not Sardok who answered.

Rather, the large canine who had taken its portion and scooted back a ways, spoke. Its voice was low and rough, as would be...expected...if a wolf began to talk. Yet the whole ordeal was strange. When Sardok invoked the spirits to speak to animals, it was more of "I can understand your barks" moment. Yet here the wolf was, speaking in a language he could understand.

Sardok swallowed and turned, watching as the shimmering orb hovered closer to the wolf.

Beastblood...Too long indulged. Suffering. Suffering.

"Baba," Sardok said, referring to the spirit with an informal version of "father", "what are you talking about?"

He then motioned towards the wolf, asking it directly. "Any clue?"

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf's ears pinned back, eyes tracking its slow bob and weave near her meal. Spirits were not often quite so persistent up in the north but tended to the opposite of being wily and elusive. The tundra witches had learned to read the signs they left behind and listen to their whispers through the ether, but seldom did they interact so ... directly and boldly. She didn't like it and strained her massive skull upwards atop her neck, hackles flared and fangs bared beneath a twisted snout.

"Leave me spirit," she snarled at the wisp, snapping her fangs in its direction, "I have traveled far and eaten little and I have no patience for man or geist."

 

[Sardok]

Once the ancestral spirit had spoken, the sound of canine aggression reached Sardok's ears. He blinked as the wolf's fangs snapped at the orb, yet Baba seemed largely unaffected. Instead of floating any closer to the canine, it moved before the Orc, hovering just at eye level.

Oathkeeper. It hissed.

The ancestors only used that moniker - Oathkeeper - when they wanted something. It was a reminder of a Shaman's duty to nature. To do no harm to the natural world and to maintain their history. And given that there wasn't any Orcish history to uphold, Sardok assumed it wanted his help with the former. Sardok heaved a sigh and set down what remained of his half of the deer.

Turning in his seat, he settled his gaze upon the wolf and motioned for the spirit to give him some space. "Apologies. The ancestors are...really forward." He cleared his throat briefly before continuing. "As you've traveled far, you're welcome to rest. And like I said, I'm happy to cook us up another deer if you'll help sniff one out."

He ran his offhand atop his head, carefully choosing his words.

"The ancestors think something's wrong - and if that is the case, I am honor-bound to help. But, if you just want to eat in peace, I understand."

That was the best he could do.

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

The orc may have abandoned his meal for the pressing matter of maintaining his title, but the wolf quite intensely continued on crunching bone. Sigrith methodically pursued any and ever little morsel of marrow or leftover sinew she could find. She could have perhaps striped an entire deer carcass clean on her own, but the offered portion was more than substantial enough to quit the hunger pangs that had lingered with her for the last few days of poor hunting.

These lands were wild and yet strangely tamed by its inhabitants.

"Unless your ancestors can help me track down my mate to a destination completely unknown, there is little help you can offer me." She wouldn't bothered to mention her own state of oppression - that was a little too personal for a stranger in a strange land.

 

[Sardok]

After the question was posed, the sage-skinned warrior watched for the canine's response. It remained unbothered, at least as far as he could tell. The meal before her was quickly devoured as that seemed to be the priority. This wasn't surprising, at least if the wolf's experience was similar to his own. Sardok himself had to resort to the ancestor's aide to get this meal, in fact. The Fringewoods were a pain in the backside to hunt nowadays.

Then, she spoke, and Sardok looked to the ancestral orb. It hummed in a way that the Orc silently understood. "Hmm...What the ancestors can offer, your nose has most likely already found. They can provide a vague heading, but nothing concrete."

The Orc waved his dominant hand, dismissing the ancestral spirit. It hummed its last and faded into the ether. "But, if you would accept company on this voyage, I would be happy to lend any aide I can."

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

That an ancestral spirit could provide no further heading of use was telling and made the witch wonder to what these spirits were tied. Was it the orc before her or the lands within which they dwelled?

"I mean to leave these lands," she replied to him levelly, the unspoken words in between signifying that her journey would take this orc from his home, "and it is unlikely that I will return here, but if you wish to join me then you are welcome."

Never dismiss the offer of company familiar with strange lands.

 

[Sardok]

When the wolf spoke, Sardok immediately thought of home. He had come to the Fringewoods to get away from his mistakes. That departure had continued up until this very day. If he had it his way, he would have tarried within the woods until the day of his death.

But, it seemed as though the ancestors had other plans. Maybe this is what they wanted all along. Thus, Sardok nodded. "Then we shall leave these lands together." he began. "I am called Sardok, what shall I call you?"

He paused, idly casting a nearby twig into the fire.

"And when would you like to leave?"

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf leveled her mismatched gaze on the orc, considering her answer carefully. A name held power with people of a certain knowledge. That he communed with the spirits of his ancestors gave her pause in thinking he might be one of those people.

"Darkstride," she answered at length before rising to all fours, "and we will leave at first light."

With nothing but splintered bones left where she had feasted, the wolf retreated from the conversation and the company of the orc to return to the cover of shadow and undergrowth for the night.

 

[Sardok]

Darkstride.

The sage-skinned man offered a simple nod in response to the canine's name and direction. For the time being, it seemed as though their conversation had reached its natural end, for his newfound companion returned to the bush. Sardok rose and briefly tended to the fire before settling within his own tent for the evening.

At first light, he arose as expected. It did not take long for him to break down his campsite and to situate his few belongings upon his back. The final piece of the puzzle was simply kicking appropriate amounts of dirt onto the remains of the fire. From there, Sardok stepped towards the bush, seeking the canine from the evening before.

"I don't have much." he began, before reaching into a satchel tied to his waist. "But this should suffice as a breakfast."

Within his palm was an offering - a few pieces of dried meat. They'd need to find a suitable meal later on, but at least their day would start off right.

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

"Keep your rations," Darkstride replied from behind him. The rain had stopped just before dawn and left the lands saturated. Petrichor hung on the air, thick and heady in the morning mists, clinging to her pelt and wafting through the trees. In the light of day her size became all the more evident: nearly large enough for the orc to use as a war mount - even for one of his stature.

Deep black colored her pelt and white capped her ears, trailed the ridges of fur along her spine, and tipped her tail like snow on mountain peaks. Four large paws pressed into soft earth, leaving prints the size of dinner plates behind. One paw in particular, the left fore, marred by patched fur and deep scars that coiled the height of the limb like vines on a tree trunk then branched across wither and chest.

She waited only briefly before turning to leave the thicket where his campsite no longer hunkered beneath the boughs of the trees. Out in the open, there were no footpaths here to follow - just the endless roll and ridge of green before them. Sigrith sought out the pale shine of the sun through the overcast sky and oriented herself south, then let her paws take the lead.

"I have seen orc tribes in these lands, always on the move, yet you travel alone."

 

[Sardok]

With the light of day now prevalent, the sage-skinned man could appreciate the canine's size. He quietly considered himself fortunate that Darkstride was sentient - for if she was not, he might not have lived past the evening prior. She turned down his rations, leading Sardok to shrug his shoulders before taking a bite of one of the strips. "Very well." came his simple response.

Darkstride then set off before them with Sardok only a few paces behind. There was not an obvious trail, but both knew the lands well enough to navigate. As they moved, she remarked on his solitude, causing a light sigh to escape his lips. "My tribe is no more." he began. "We were young. Driven by ambition and flew too close to the sun."

He then motioned his chin in her direction.

"Likewise, I presumed your kind traveled in packs?"

Sigrith​

 

[Sigrith]

Youth and ambition always seemed to drive hand-in-hand. Seemed a story as old as time and one she'd heard in various voices throughout her otherwise short-lived years.

"Where I come from," said the wolf, "we say drifted too far into the pale."

A saying that could define many fates, but almost always carried the tone of failure or death. She could hear Signe's rueful cackling in the back of her head.

As for traveling in packs... "Not all wolves need packs," she replied with a short glance back to him, "I have always done better on my own. Besides," the wolf snorted gently as the ground in her path began to slope downward, "the pack cannot give me what I seek."