It took a minute for Rick to realize that what he was looking at was a drum and not some kind of mini-hut. Standing at nearly two meters across and almost as tall as he was, the beast of an instrument was the largest drum he had ever laid eyes on. His brows narrowed as he caressed the polished wood shell, working his way up to the soft head. The cloth was made of silk and was held in place by a series of industrial strength metal rods.

“How did you make this so fast?”

He glanced at Yasir and his wife, Ahina. The Spinner smiled, preening at his question. “We recruited the best crafters in the village. It is the largest piece of the set.”

A set.

They’d made a set.

“The Orc-wood is very useful for making drums.” Yasir took a mercantile tone as he spoke. “Its production was hastened because of necessity, but my wife is meticulous. This instrument should last at least until we reach Sinco.”

Rick grabbed one drum-stick, a wooden club the thickness of his arm, and struck the surface of the drum. The instrument let out a singular beat, powerful enough to rattle his ribs. His arm bounced back and nearly made him stumble. His gaze remained on the drum for several long seconds. “This is meant to be played by a maiden.”

“Of course. We made this one keeping the Orcs in mind.”

Tall, muscular, strong, and enduring as hell. Rick marveled at the craftsmanship and felt a quiver of excitement at the thought of maidens playing instruments. How far could music be pushed when the abilities and senses of both performers and crowd were vastly greater? He struck the drum again, expecting the bounce. The sound was deep, rattling his bones, the ground, the very air.

It was like an explosion on demand.

“You like it.”

Yasir wasn’t asking, reading the grin on Rick’s face easily.

“I think I will, yeah. We’d just need to find some players.” Rubbing at his chin in thought, he glanced at Dia. “Is alcohol still out of the question?”

“Will there be humans present?” She asked pointedly.

“Nothing to inebriate the maidens.”

“The music is already pushing it.” The maiden whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Ahina’s smile tightened ever so slightly, though she remained quiet. Yasir didn’t. “It is natural for maidens and humans to enjoy music and song.”

Now it was Dia’s turn to tighten her expression. “And accidents happen when things get rowdy, do they not?”

“True. But they are the exception, not the rule.” Yasir kept the tone polite. “Maidens unable to keep basic awareness are not allowed to such events. They are, after all, expected to be responsible for themselves and their actions.”

“Not at the potential expense of humans.”

“I think we can save this philosophical debate for another time.” Rick interjected, sensing Dia’s mood turning icy. “The point of this whole thing is to raise morale. We’ll make sure to keep the humans away from the rowdier crowds.”

“It’s a tribe of wildlings.” Dia hissed. “They are all rowdy.”

Rick smacked the drum. “And we’re part of that now. So we’ll work around it. If things get out of hand, we stop or shift things. This whole thing is going to be a long list of firsts for many people.”

Rather than flinch, she perked up at the declaration. Dia glanced at the drum once more, and then at Rick, giving a quick nod. “I will make it work, sir.” And marched off in an uncharacteristic rush in her step.

Ahina giggled, the sound mixed with Yasir’s amused chuckle.

“Let’s… see the other things…” He frowned, watching the healer rushing off in what was clearly a maiden on a mission. What had gotten over her?

The married couple took the lead, showing off the preparations that had been underway throughout the past handful of days. The amount of work done grated against Rick’s sense of time and effort. If the drums hadn’t been enough, the mountain of meat, drinks, food, and other preparations were irrefutable proof of just how industrious maidens could be when they put their mind at it.

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All in all, it felt like he was looking at the culmination of a month of toiling to prepare for some grand event. Yet this hadn’t even been an entire week. It made sense, and he’d have to further familiarize himself with such capabilities.

With the tour over, Yasir returned to his work, keeping an oversight of the humans as they awoke the ferals. The healers were in on the whole thing. Being locked up in the wooden box had not been a healthy environment for the maidens, and Polita puke-juice had been the order of the day. Much to everyone’s chagrin.

The atmosphere in the tribe had shifted considerably.

The number of Orcs had increased now that many of the scouting parties had returned, and overall the green-skins appeared chirper, but overall slightly tense. Particularly around the former slaves. Those maidens were far more skittish, avoiding the public spaces whenever they could, and moving hastily whenever they needed to do something.

There was one thing they all shared. And it was that they kept a healthy distance from Rick. Their eyes would linger, their voices would whisper. Many would bow and smile, or just stare and walk out of the way. It was clear the whole bonding thing had made bigger waves than either Dia or Eva had mentioned.

The edge in the way they moved wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he figured things would loosen up in time.

“Where’s Urtha?” He asked.

The Orc standing in front of his tent jolted. “I… haven’t seen her.” She declared. “Father.” She hastily added.

Rick glanced at his hut for a moment. “Why are you standing guard here?”

“Monica insisted.”

“Monica?” He frowned, peeking into the hut and finding it empty. Was there anything in there worth stealing? What few things of value there were, would be easy to find and identify… “Did she walk in here carrying a bunch of meat?”

“I did not see what she had on her person, Father.” The answer was hasty and tense, the Orc’s gaze turning away in quick order.

Rick quirked a brow, but changed the subject back. “Where do you think I could find Urtha?”

“When she is stressed, she usually goes chopping.”

“Chopping?”

‘Chopping’ was a spectacle to behold when being done at the hands of a three meter tall Orc. The maiden held an ax that was as long as Rick was tall, swinging it with monstrous force, slicing through meter-wide tree-trunks in one hit.

Urtha had leveled the equivalent of a football playing field within two hours maximum. The maiden hadn’t even broken a sweat, grunting as she’d swing the weapon like a baseball bat, cleaving wood like it wasn’t even there.

Rick remained there, watching her work. Was there a purpose for it, or was it merely to vent? He could guess at many things they could need these trees for, but doubted all of it was for the sake of utility. There was a tension to the way she moved, an anger to her every move.

He wondered whether he should do something, to leave the ball on her side of the court and wait for her to bounce it back. Did he trust she would take the step and avoid things heading into a collision course?

In the end, he left her to her trees. If Urtha wasn’t able to handle something like this, then it was clear he could only trust her with matters of the battlefield if that.

He meandered some more around the village, spotting Monica as she grappled and played with four Orcs. The green-skins were clearly trying to pin her down, and the feline just teased, laughed, and threw them off with ease. It forced the others to coordinate and fight together, with other green-skins joining in the rough-housing as others dropped out.

Kiara was supervising the feral thing, pretending to fly about the place with boredom, but constantly drifting back to the feral pens. From time to time, she would drift down for a minute or four before taking back to the air.

Yasir was there as well, often accompanied by Ahina, though the Spinner would mostly only show up whenever the Succubus came down from her skyward perch.

Dia was nowhere to be seen.

Rick's steps somehow led him back to the Drum. Its smaller siblings had emerged, a dozen in total. Each of them had a different size, though all of them kept a similar wood and metal aesthetic. Ignoring the maidens that were walking about the place, Rick sat next to the drum that closest matched the sizes he was familiar with.

Once upon a time, he joined a marching band. The worst and best kind of band.

The time he’d spent there had been brief. Music had piqued his interest, but it had never really kept it. Yet Yasir had thought his idle drumming and humming was a sign of something else. Rick was left to tap away at the surface of the instrument, testing out the rhythms, trying to remember what he’d learnt all those years ago.

Nothing quite clicked. There were a few rhythms and beats that were interesting, but his lack of practice and experience was obvious.

“Maybe I should invent a guitar and play Wonderwall.” He muttered to himself, tap-tap-tapping at the surface and rummaging through his memories.

Was there any music he’d be able to play? What even was the easiest thing he could play?

Bum-Bum-Tap

“Oh.”

Rick grinned, returning to his meandering light playing of the drum, mind churning. Maybe he hadn’t been looking at this the right way. If writing and science were things that could be taught, then why not music?

This was a world where the concept of interconnection didn’t exist. There just was no effective way to communicate with someone on the other side of the planet. Or if there was, it was so expensive only a handful of people could afford it.

How many thousands of songs had he heard over the years?

Bum-Bum-Tap

He’d send a message to the others who’d been stranded in this world alongside him. Maybe they’d have some stuff they could send over. But that was something for later.

“We will, we will rock you.” He hummed away in preparation for the festivities to come.