One of the more controversial dispositions of La Réunion’s Covenant of the races is that while every individual must respect the free will of any members of the other species' members, this does not preclude romantic relationships. The harpies, lacking any male members to their species on the island and being incapable of having male offspring from non-harpy progenitors have been the primary beneficiary to this clause, as they can have harpy progeny from both humans and Orcs. They are not the only ones, however. Eleven Half-Orcs have been  born on La Réunion during the last twenty years. They are permanently allowed access to both Human and Orc territories according to the Covenant's prescriptions, though they can be banned from either if their actions are deemed improper. They are lauded in the Militia for their physical prowess and loyalty to their comrades. One of them is, at the time of writing, the First Lieutenant in charge of Saint-Louis’s NoM Militia. Sadly, they seem to lack any kind of ability for human Spellcraft, contrary to Orcish shamanism.

Extract from “Commentary on the Covenant of La Réunion” by Tanaka Inagi, First Librarian of La Réunion

Damien woke with a start. A great weight was sitting on his chest. Something akin to a piece of wet sandpaper was whipping at his cheeks. His gaze met golden, slit eyes.

“Good cat,” he whispered at it, trying to pet it on the side so that it would roll off his torso. He stopped and looked at the cat’s sides. There were black wings. With golden tips to the feathers. He gulped and scratched the 'cat's' flank. “G-good cat.”

He searched his mind for the beast’s entry in the old Librarian’s Bestiary of La Réunion and its waters, that he had reread in the past weeks as a way of preparing for any unexpected occurrence. This particular species of cat-like beings was on his list of possible encounters where his plan was simplest: run.

Feathered Felitera: A Magical Beast originally imported from the South Nile Valley. The original creature -an Air-attuned chimera resembling a cat sporting a bat’s wings- was smuggled on la Réunion shortly before its initial evacuation, in the 1900s or the 1910s. They have since evolved in contact with the abundant mana of their habitat. The apparition of black, white, orange, yellow or red feathers on their once-naked wings is an outward manifestation of this mutation. They have been noted to be aggressive toward Humans and Demi-Humans intruding on their territories in the eastern slopes of the Piton de La Fournaise, and seem to consider Mermen their main food source, especially hunting them in the weeks following attacks on the southern coast.

Strengths: Ability to fly, ability to regenerate most wounds.

Weaknesses: Like most cat-based magical creatures, they tend to play with their prey, which allows potential victims to flee.

Recommendation: As these beasts are actively serving humanity’s interests by preying on Mermen, they should not be engaged. Flee if encountered. If a conflict cannot be avoided, aim to maim the creatures by critically injuring it at the base of the wings.

Estimated Danger Rating:

Young: 5. Although the younger Feathered Felitera have been described by some as “kittens with wings”, they represent a realistic and serious threat in battle as soon as they can fly. They are able to simulate the effects of a Dust Devil by beating their wings in the direction of their target. They are also able to create a “paw” of flame that they can project, in a way similar to our Burning Hands spell.

Adult: 7. An adult Feathered Felitera is 3 meters from nose to tail and 1 meter high at the shoulders. They possess a build closer to a jaguar than of a domestic cat. In addition to their younger counterpart’s abilities, they can spit a Scorching ray and teleport in a manner reminiscent of Thunder Step, although they produce a powerful squall instead of the human spell’s signature thunder crack.

Note: An individual Feathered Felitera, recognizable by a missing eye, has been seen multiple times concentrating on high-value targets such as Mermen Priests until they spontaneously combusted. It tolerates and is tolerated by the Orcs, who call him “Ol’ one-eye”. As the Orcs’ Chieftain has taken a liking to the creature, it is not to be harmed except in case of extreme self-preservation. Its Danger Rating is estimated at 9.

‘Well’, he thought, ‘at least it’s not an adult’. He looked around, hoping that someone would help him, noticing with a shiver that while the cat’s claws were retracted, its paws were wet with snake blood and chunks of eyes.

He saw two columns of twenty Militiamen sitting in a circle, happily chatting with a group of around thirty Orcs. He stared at the one he thought was their leader. He was a gigantic male, with four fingers the width of Damien’s forearms, and forearms the width of most humans’ torsos. Even sitting, he was taller than the Sergeant. A female Orc noticed his awakening and kicked at the big one.

“Hey, what was that for, boss!” He protested.

“You were laughing too loud!” She replied. “See, you even woke up the kid!” She glared at the orc, whose rust-colored skin reddened. He picked a bit at his left tusk, mock-glared back at her, and turned back to his conversation with a Cadet.

The female orc, interestingly, was not taller than Julia, with tusks barely long enough to poke out of her lips and long, black hair arranged in locks. She hissed at the winged cat. It took flight, taking the same air of offended dignity so common to cats expelled from a comfy place. Then, it decided to take refuge on the big orc’s head. He implored his “boss” with his eyes and was met by her refusal to acknowledge his silent plea to expel what must be her pet a second time from its resting place.

Damien looked at her, confounded. “You… tamed a winged cat.”

“Yep. Funny that, Da had the same face as you when I came back with it.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“… How though? And who’s Da?” Damien felt a migraine incoming. The Orcish youth was, he felt, just the type of person he had trouble dealing with: a mischievous, somewhat distracted youth who assumed you knew everything they did. And this particular Orc had apparently tamed a young, dangerous, magical, apex predator. He hoped the militiamen would not forget to report that to their superiors.

“Da’s name is Pierre de Bourbon,” the Orc answered sheepishly.

Damien stumbled. He looked around, found Jean half-hiding behind a tree while speaking with one of his comrades, and called out. “Jean, do you happen to have a Pierre in your family?”

Jean grimaced. He’d been hoping to not have to greet the orcish youth. “That’s my uncle…. He was named Envoy to the Orc tribe a dozen years ago, after he led one of the Militia/Orc combined attacks to liberate Saint Louis from the Mermen… I was told he was very enthusiastic during the celebrations...”

“Oh. That enthusiastic?” Damien was curious now. Looking back, he noticed signs of mixed heritages on the young woman’s body, the most obvious being her five-fingered hands and her round ears. “I forgot to ask your name...” He told her, slightly ashamed of his lack of decorum.

“That’s Pyrite. Ma said that since I had to get Pa’s odd 'family name', she would get to choose that 'first name' thing you use.” the young Half-Orc explained

“Nice to meet you, Pyrite.” Damien offered his hand for her to shake. She looked at it. He waited.

“Uncle Pierre didn’t really educate Pyrite on social interactions. Grandpa refuses to allow her entry to the city… They’ve been feuding since she was born and Pierre decided to ask for the post of Envoy.” Jean explained before the wait became even more awkward. “Pyrite, humans often expect that when you meet someone for the first time, you’ll tell them your name and shake their hands like that.” He demonstrated with a confused Damien. “Want to try?”

She nodded, then proceeded to grind Damien’s fingers in her hand. He snatched his tortured fingers back from her grasp as soon as possible, noting that she possessed all the strength of an Orc despite her size, then asked while nursing it. “So, I was wondering… How did you manage to tame that Felitera?” He asked, indicating the cat that was licking the blood off his paws.

“Well, I found it in an abandoned cave. It looked hungry, even bit me a little, so I gave it fish. Now it follows me. When it bites people, I don’t give it fish.” Pyrite described the taming process with heart-rending honesty. “When it won’t let go of something or when it throws fire at someone, I smack it on the tail.”

Damien decided to let the topic go. He would report the conversation word for word to Roland and anyone who would ask him, but he knew he would not find out any more from Pyrite. Her simplistic explanations were, somehow, putting him on edge. He left her with her cousin, who was valiantly trying to find a reason to flee from her. He decided to ask him later why he was so uneasy around her. It would probably have to wait until the end of the vacation, though, as the Orcs seemed intent to accompany them all the way to Saint-Louis.

“How did they know we would need help?” He asked the Sergeant while he was packing the remains of the snake. The meat had been given to the Orcs as a gesture of gratitude, as well as the ribs of the beast. Its spine, Core and skull had been collected for the stores of monster parts in Saint-Denis’s resources vault.

“I heard one of them saying that their head shaman, Shameek, told them to go to the spawning pool after observing the cat’s flight. Pierre de Bourbon calls that Felinornithomancy.” He answered, half-laughing.

“I know why people avoid Orcs. It’s not that they’re scary. In fact, they’re friendly beings that are worth knowing. They just induce headaches.” Damien sighed. Someone snorted behind him. He looked back and saw Julia and Manon, apparently laughing at Jean’s struggles with the Orcish mindset. One of the Cadets called for attention and announced that they would divide themselves into two groups. One column would finish the patrol and accompany the Saint-Louisiens home, while the other would walk a pair of hours and sleep at a camp that the Orcs were setting up on the foothills of the Piton des Neiges, just outside of Harpy territory. When he got so far with the explanations, Pyrite interrupted him.

“Don’t bother, my guys will just carry the kids to the Garden. They need to exercise, and the cat took all the fun out of our trek.” She offered with undisguised enthusiasm.

“But -” The Cadet tried to protest.

“You heard me, guys. Everyone takes a pair of kids, the last Orc to the Garden’s valley’s on firewood duty for two moons!” She ordered. Damien winced. A Mage would have to use Clarion Call to give orders at such a volume. No wonder Half-Orcs were so appreciated as Militia officers!

Damien felt someone poking at his shoulder and turned. A grinning orc asked: “You going to Garden?”

“Yes, but -” Without letting him finish, the Orc picked him up, threw him on his shoulder, and began running, snatching Jean in passing. Damien screamed. “He’s not! He's going to his home in Saint-Louis!” The Orc stopped and looked around. Most of his comrades were carrying one Acolyte on each shoulder, and a Cadet with his column had managed to snatch a ride too, but he couldn’t balance himself with a single burden. After some difficulties, Damien managed to sit on the Orc’s shoulders. When he took off once again, Damien struggled a bit to keep his equilibrium. They were far behind the others, and Damien could already guess, observing their madcap pace, that his carrier would not be able to catch up. He promised him to tell Pyrite that he was not at fault for the delay.

After some time he began to daydream, thinking that Pyrite’s winged cat really needed a name. Hours later, as twilight was beginning to descend, he saw the Garden. He had a plunging view of it from the Piton des Neiges’s foothills that his Orc 'mount' had scaled while he was daydreaming. It was a magnificent forest of pine trees, bent by the winter typhoons’ eastern winds. He could also see other species of, mainly fruit trees in it. Then he smelled it. An indescribable odor, reminding him of his mother somehow, and paradoxically ancient, as he knew that while there always had been a forest there, its scale had more than doubled under the Sire’s ministrations, which had only begun thirty years back.

His heart began to beat stronger. And stronger. Until he felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. The Orc put him back on the ground, asking him what was happening, but he couldn’t answer. He was choking Embers. Sun-fire was streaming from his eyes like tears. The Orc fled. Damien screamed. Embers replaced the grass on the ground, hundreds of meters around him. Two Suns set west of the Garden. Someone sighed in its center, audibly disappointed.

“So, this is a success? Failure might have been preferable.”