Private Tales Voices

[Oriole]

Bedside vigils were not a new vocation. She drifted in and out of a light slumber, glancing over at her recovering companion every so often to monitor his vitals. He was doing fine. Better than fine. He would survive injuries that would have meant death for lesser men. Oriole was curious if it was just the man or if it was an orc thing. She didn’t imagine he would be very forthcoming with that line of questioning, but then again he had an interesting history written on his skin.

When he finally began to stir, Oriole sat up slowly. She didn’t want to startle him, in case his memory was foggy.

“You’re awake.” She was sitting almost opposite of him around the fire. Far enough away to form a comforting distance, but still near enough to keep a careful watch over him. How did one sit non-threateningly? Oriole wasn’t sure, so she settled for wrapping her arms around her knees and lacing her fingers together. In the dawn light, the dark patterns of her luminancy tattoos were visible on her bared hands and wrists. Her hair was also as bright as the flames between them, loose of her hood and curling about her round face like a lion’s mane.

“How do you feel?” she asked, speaking casually in the hopes of reassuring him that she still wasn't a threat while also gently probing for how much of the common tongue he knew.

 

[Hath Charosh]

His dark eyes paused in their brief search for a weapon when she spoke. Hath remembered her tending to his wounds, but he also remembered her brilliant magic sending the goblins darting back to the trees.

He couldn't see a weapon close by. He could always make a new bow but that axe was hard to replace. It was dwarven made, incredibly robust and could break most magical constructs. It was known as Biter. It had been known as orc-biter.

Hath pushed himself halfway to his feet. It was enough to start turning and driving his feet into the ground. He tried to flee.

He made three paces before the world span and he tumbled back to the ground.

"Fuck."

 

[Oriole]

He didn’t answer. Or perhaps he did. Oriole watched him struggling to stand. Unwise, and she told him so.

“That’s not a good idea,” she warned him. She didn’t move, didn’t raise a hand to stop him or pursue him. She only waited. Experience was a far more deadly thing than any threat she could have leveled at him.

And, of course, he only staggered a short distance before eating dirt. She supposed that word was one of few that bridged all languages and understanding. Oriole sighed and stood slowly to calmly approach the orc.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea. I’m sure that hurt,” she remarked as stopped just out of reach and crossed her arms. “Now if you are done being an idiot, would you like some help back to the comfort of your pallet?” The half-elf gestured passively to the layers of blankets she’d laid out for him, the topmost warmed by a heating spell for his comfort. In the stark cold beyond the fire’s warmth, it was far more inviting.

“If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have let you die.” Something she’d thought was obvious by now, but it was worth saying out loud in case it hadn’t occurred to him yet. She didn’t raise a finger to help him until she was sure he was going to comply.

 

[Hath Charosh]

This was demeaning. Whatever voiced had grown to give him some interactions - even within himself - they all agreed that this was a low moment.

It would have helped if the elf was a threat, or even slightly angry. Instead she looked down at him as if he were a child. She had patience, even if he was wearing it thin.

"Why?" he asked. His left hand clawed at the dirt to give himself enough purchase to roll over and face her. It was about all the strength he had left.

Tapping the demonic power he had been left with was always a gamble. It left him exhausted and vulnerable. In this case his rest had been dedicated to healing, leaving nothing to replenish his reserves. He sensed this was a dangerous state of being.

 

[Oriole]

She shrugged.

"Because you needed help." And the answer really was that simple. Oriole had nothing to offer anyone these days but that.

She watched him curiously, some thought turning over on her honest face as much in her mind. Then she stepped forward into his reach and knelt down. It took giving trust to earn trust, and this one obviously didn't trust her. That was okay; the world could be unkind to his kind. She had been a war medic, had tended to those considered the enemy. She knew fear and pain and loss, and she'd seen it, too.

"Come on." She held her hands aloft for a moment, and even when she finally took his arm her hands were loose, not too tight. Oriole pulled his arm over her shoulders and aided him back to his feet. She was sturdy, taking as much of his weight as he did as she guided him back to his pallet. He had nonreal choice in the destination, but he wasn't really trying to get away this time.

Good. Hopefully they were coming to a tentative understanding.

Having invaded his personal space enough, the healer stepped back as soon as he was settled. Fretting to check his bandages this moment was a lot. Baby steps were sometimes required.

"Are you hungry?" she asked from the reestablished distance. "The goblins left a little. I have tea? Or rice and dried meat, if you'd rather that?"

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath had grown up with a tribe that lived close to elven territory through the savanna dry season. They migrated south to Penteth Charosh and lived close to the woods when the plains could no longer support them.

If they strayed too far into the trees there was always a warning first. Desperate orcs had ignored the warnings and paid. It had always been a simple lesson: elves are to be feared.

A lesson from a tribe he hadn't seen in a long time. He had learned that their views were narrow, on the scale of the world, during his travels. However, they had often served him well.

"Tea?" His humour had always been dry, but this was simple surprise at the suggestion. "Meat."

 

[Oriole]

That didn't surprise her much, but assumptions were the root of many of the world's evils. She shrugged and began picking through her belongings for a metal cup. She filled it halfway with water and set it on the coals to warm. Oriole then took out a sliver of dried meat and began to pare it down to smaller bits with a knife.

"Do you live nearby?" she asked casually as she worked. She kept her eyes down on her patterned hands. The man wasn't exactly kitted out for travelling as she was.

 

[Hath Charosh]

He narrowed his gaze at the question.

Do not answer her

Hath was surprised as he sudden sound of his own voice inside his head. The demon had spoken to him like this, but it was long gone.

It was concerning to hear the voice of instinct, the voice of lone survival take on that role.

"I have a camp not far from here," he replied, before hissing in pain. What could she take that would be useful to her? Arrows too stiff for an elf, basic tools. The things he needed to survive were of little value to others.

 

[Oriole]

She did not think, by the look of him, that he was going to answer. The pause was pregnant with mistrust -- not that she blamed him. He watched her like she was a viper in the grass.

Oriole was pleasantly surprised that he answered. Baby steps. She nodded and twirled a finger over the cup of water. It quickly came to a boil and she added a palm full of rice to it.

"You are welcome to stay until you are recovered, of course, but I've no horse and you're rather heavy. I'll not be moving you from this place on my own. It was all I could do to get you there from where you had fallen."

She stirred the cup of rice

"Are you alone, or should I expect more guests for lunch?" She wore a slight grin, hopefully tempering any dislike he had for her with some light humor.

 

[Hath Charosh]

He had spoken so rarely in recent months. The conversations he held inside his own head were all conducted in orcish. Hath had to concentrate on each word and let them settle into order inside his head.

He question felt both benign and loaded with consequences at the same time. Was she deflecting? Did she want to know if he was alone and defenceless?

She already could have taken anything he had. The dwarven axe would be valuable and she could have been far away by now.

"No one else. I will walk. Soon. Goblins might come back. Trolls in hills."

By which he meant that the goblins might trick a troll or two into doing their dirty work for them. He wasn't going anywhere immediately, but orcs were hardy creatures. Slowing them down was hard work, killing them took a concerted effort.

 

[Oriole]

She made a sound, a hum that was between satisfaction and displeasure, but acknowledged his warning with a nod. She tapped the spoon on the rim of the metal cup and set it down. Men always had grand ideas of how soon they thought they would be on their feet. As his earlier attempt had proved, however, her opinion might have been unwanted but it was usually right. Now was not a good time to press that matter; he would or he would not be fit for walking in the next day or two, and being self-righteous wasn't going to speed that along.

Oriole said nothing for a while. The early morning was bright and lively, filled with the song of winter birds. Her breath rose in thick white clouds and the boiling water steamed vigorously. She was, perhaps, a little more tired than she wanted to admit, because the warmth of the spell in her clothes was slowly fading. He was not the only one who needed to rest and recuperate.

After a while, she poured off the excess water and added the small bits of meat to warm in the rice. Taking it off of the fire, she grabbed her saddle as she walked over to his pallet.

"Don't sit up. Let me help you." Oriole helped situate him with the saddle under his shoulders to give him something solid to lean against to sit up. Her motions were slow and deliberate, as if he were a wild animal that would still shy if startled. She adjusted his blankets and checked that their spells were still in place, all the while keeping her eyes averted and as much distance as she could manage to maintain for his comfort. The proximity did allow her to at least check his dressings for any sign of fresh bleeding after his nosedive earlier. Not much, if any, which meant his sutures held.

She only looked up when she handed him the cup wrapped in one of her mittens to protect his hands from the warm metal.

"Rice and meat," she said matter-of-factly. Oriole stepped back and tended the fire. She had giving him two options and had delivered on that offer. She might be giving him space, but she was still the healer.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Don't sit up. Let me help you." Oriole helped situate him with the saddle under his shoulders to give him something solid to lean against to sit up.

Hath still stubbornly tried to sit up. It was a brief and mildly painful attempt. It was followed by an stubborn, but apologetic glare.

He didn't bristle at her presence this time. Instinct did appreciate having a stranger so close when he was wounded. He wanted to be hidden and out of sight, not being inspected.

Hath was half way through the meal when he stopped and finished a mouthful.

"Thank you," he said quietly, before continuing.

Hath was trying to consider things from her perspective. There was little for her to gain by tending to him. She was making herself vulnerable when she should have been on the move. She deserved a thanks at the very least.

 

[Oriole]

He was eating without complaint, so she took that as a victory. It meant he wasn't the worst patient she'd ever had. Oriole was reminiscing on some of those notable nightmares when he spoke up.

When he thanked her.

Oriole looked surprised. She was a fairly honest person, in expression as much as deed, and lying was not something her face could do. Blinking at him for a moment, she finally responded.

"You're welcome," she smiled. "And thank you. I'm sorry it cost you harm, but I was lucky I wasn't out here alone."

Not that Oriole couldn't have dispatched the goblins on her own. But it might have been her with a spear in the gut instead, and there would have been no one to help her. Oriole did not believe in the gods, but perhaps some twist of fortune had put them both here at the same time. A comforting thought.

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Hmnph," he went. "Luck."

It hadn't seemed particularly lucky to him. Hath had been tracking the path the goblins took for his own reasons. Her light had drawn their attention to him and he had been attacked before he could flee the scene.

"Little bastards went right for me," he added.

Hath took a pause in eating to start prodding at where she had stitched his wounds.

 

[Oriole]

Well when he said it like that it didn't sound very good. It wasn't very lucky for him. That was fair. Oriole gave a harumph of her own. She had already apologized, and he didn't seem the kind of person to be overly concerned with ardent apologies.

"You're luckier than you think. I've seen men die from a lot less. The spears missed anything important." There was no real luck in that, either, just bad aim or his ability to get out of the way. Nothing could be amounted to luck if you spent enough time rationalizing it.

Ugh, this was exactly the sort of thing she had left the college to get away from.

"Are you managing the pain alright?" Oriole asked, eager to move past the subject of luck. "I gave you a mild pain reliever last night. You can have some more to take the edge off. Or…" If medicine was not to his liking, Oriole produced a generous flask from her coat and shook its contents. "I've got this."

 

[Hath Charosh]

"Men have died from less," he repeated, emphasising the human element of her statement. Wrapping his lips around words still felt unnatural.

"The pain will be fine," he stated flatly. The orc managed to contradict himself immediately. Poking a stitch too many, he drew back his lips and hissed. He sat quite still and breathed slowly.

"What is that?" he asked of the flask. He sounded deeply suspicious, but it wasn't a flat out refusal any more.

 

[Oriole]

Oriole chose not to correct his assumption, only grinning when he finally relented and inquired about the contents of her flask.

"I'm not sure what it was called, but it was made by man." She shrugged. "It might not be strong enough for your tastes."

She was not condescending, but she amused herself, smiling kindly as she met his eye from across the small camp. The clear liquid inside looked as harmless as water, yet burned like the brand all the way down and for a while after. It was so strong that she preferred to use it for medicinal purposes only. This was a medicinal purpose, no? If he was reluctant to take any other pain relievers, this would be a fair concession.

Oriole was trying to build a feeble structure of trust. They might part ways tomorrow and never meet again, but she was morally obligated to see that he was well cared for while she was in his company. She was not as she seemed, which was quite obviously something he did not trust, and she was fine taking her time to reveal that one bit at a time. She was curious and patient, observant and probing.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath rolled his head back, cursing the sky for bringing him this terrible turn of luck. For all his bravado, he found recovering from injuries one of the worst parts of living in the wilds without a tribe. If he could not hunt then he could not eat.

"I might try some," he agreed.

His attention returned to the rice and meat that was left. He didn't appreciate the human and elven diets of bread and rice and grains. He preferred meat and fruit. In the circumstances, he would eat what was offered. It could be some time before he could have a hot meal again.

 

[Oriole]

Oriole didn't gloat. She took her time rising before crossing the camp and sitting back down beside him. Peering sidelong into the cup, she noted that he had put a fair dent in his meal. An appetite was good. She waited quietly before offering the flask again.

"My name is Oriole." A delayed introduction. However, it was not the first time she had seen a man's insides before she got his name. The half-elf smiled in a friendly, comfortable way. She pushed a thick swathe of wild orange curls behind her ear to keep it out of her face.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath finished off his food. He kept watching her suspiciously over the rice. At times he would glance about at their surroundings, or tilt his ear towards a distant sound.

He had been running on almost pure instinct for months. It was not about to let him relax now that he was wounded a vulnerable.

"Why?" he asked, when she offered her name. That wasn't Hath's voice, it was that of the hunter that had kept him alive alone in the wilds.

 

[Oriole]

Why?

"Because my mother had a good sense of humor?" she laughed. She didn't know him well enough to notice anything about his guarded tone. "Or do you mean why am I introducing myself? Because you might have saved my life last night, and I think that warrants knowing your name?"

She continued to hold the flask at length, but shrugged.

 

[Hath Charosh]

That was irritatingly logical. The second voice from deep in his instinctive, animal core was held in silence.

"I am Hath," Hath replied. He closed his right fist and then opened it palm forward. A brief gesture, but he was remembering some manners. Manners as orcs saw them anyway, which involved showing you were not armed when making introductions.

"What is a powerful, elvish mage doing out here?" he asked. Words were slow. Remembering conversation was not that difficult, but he had to draw on the trade tongue.

 

[Oriole]

Hath. He was the first Hath she had met in her travels. He also happened to be the first orc. Oriole was amused as she echoed his gesture, opening her tattooed palm. It was empty. On the surface, anyways. As he had already seen, she was never unarmed.

A powerful elvish mage? Oriole couldn't resist laughing at that.

"I am only half elvish," she assured him. Or she hoped that was reassuring. Perhaps being half human was just as bad. Oh well. She couldn't help being what she was any more than he could.

"I have no reason. I am traveling. Gnolls took my horse the other night, so I'm on foot to the next town." She nodded her head toward the saddle he was propped up against. Everything she had in this small camp was all that she could carry. Fortunately, the same mother who had had a good sense of humor had also seen fit to give her tall, broad shoulders very capable of that task.

"What is a powerful orcish warrior doing out here?"

 

[Hath Charosh]

Half elven? He knew several half elves. Their kind was in decline, so he supposed that made sense.

"Powerful warrior," he muttered, looking down at his wounds. He had been forced to draw upon the dark magicks left within him to fight mere goblins.

If she had lost her horse to a pack of gnolls then she wasn't quite as all-powerful as she had seemed. He had learned to fear elven mages and swordmasters the hard way.

"I have been living in the hills near here," he admitted. Hath was planning to get on the move when summer came, but he hadn't decided where he would go. Exiled from his tribe, there were no obvious choices.

"The town is not too far," he said. Hard to gauge distance. Orcs measured in the time it took to get between places. Orcs could run for hours and hours per day.

 

[Oriole]

Hath did not appear to agree with her compliment. Good to know they were on the same page. Both were not as they seemed, and not only in the pleasantly surprising ways; there was a grounding comfort in knowing someone admirable or fearsome had their shortcomings and humility.

Oriole nodded -- even if his answer was a non-answer. "I live here" was a very shallow explanation for how an orc had come to live here. His kind were no less common in this region than hers. She was not in the business of prying, however, so she moved on.

"Do you think I'll have the good fortune of being able to purchase a horse there?" It was unlikely, and her question was just conversation at this point.