The morning had barely broken when we were stirred from our slumbers. In a somewhat groggy haze, we quickly ate our breakfast, washed up, and hurriedly put on our day ware. Mother seemed to be rushing us and at the same time fussed over our appearances, pointing out every speck of dirt on our clothes or piece of jewelry that was askew.
While she wore her normal calm and indifferent expression her air felt somewhat anxious and I couldn't help but begin to feel so as well. Just as the sun finished rising on the horizon she declared us ready to be seen in public. Now more awake we began to chatter among ourselves growing more excited as mother guided us toward the largest door of the main yurt. The one that led outside. Once we reached it however, mother stopped and turned to look at us.
“Before leaving, I must make a few things clear. How you behave at home is not how you can behave out there,” we began to shift on our feet, wanting the lecture to be over so we could finally leave, mother's eyes narrowed at us. “All of you must listen well to what I'm about to tell you,” her voice dropped to her stern and somewhat threatening tone and we straightened up.
“When we leave this yurt you will not speak unless spoken to. You will not touch anything. You will not take anything unless expressly given,” her voice seemed to shake me to my core and I saw her eyes begin to blaze like fire once again, “You will not leave my side for any reason. Do you understand?” Our response was a silent nod, as none of us could speak. Taking another long look at us she finally turned back to the door and we all let out a breath that none of us realized we were holding. Mother stood at the door for a beat before flinging open the heavy leather hide and walking out, I and my brothers following close behind.
The sudden change of temperature struck me but I had started to grow accustomed to it. Our exit from the yurt found us in another yard, one much smaller than the yard at the back of our home. It was also surrounded by the same bone-like fencing but across from the yurt door was a large gate. I stared, my eyes wide and my mouth probably hanging open, but I wasn't looking at the gate. Standing on either side of the entrance to the yard were two massive hulking men, they stood at least eight feet tall.
Their frames were wide and heavily muscled, just one of their biceps was twice the size of my head, and their skin was rust-colored with two large tusks the length of my hand jutting from under their lower lips. Their red hair was twisted into thick braids that hung past their shoulder blades, arms crossed over their chests and they were clad in leather armor with swords and axes strapped to their hips and backs. We all stared up at them in awe, clinging to our mother as we approached the gate, she stopped in front of the two men and gave a curt nod.
They stared at her for a moment before they each extended an arm and opened the gate, which swung inward toward our home, allowing us to pass through. I continued to stare at them as we passed, wondering which race they were when I caught the gaze of one of the guards. As soon as I did I felt my stomach drop at the look on his face, it was full of malice and disgust and all of it was directed at me. I felt like I was frozen in place as I watched his lips curl into a contempt-filled sneer.
I hadn't even done anything, why was he looking at me like that? Was this what mother was trying to tell me before? About things between the races being complex? My thoughts were broken as I felt someone grab my hand, I quickly turned to look, only to find Malkadian. There was worry in his eyes as he tried to give me a reassuring smile, I did my best to mirror it, and we drew close to mother again as we continued past the gate. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling I felt as I heard the gate close behind us.
Taking in the expanse of land around us, I found that our yurt was on somewhat of a hill. This raised vantage point now provided an ample view of the sprawling camp laid out before us. The sparsely grassed landscape was covered in thousands upon thousands of other yurts, I noticed while they all had similar bone fencing to ours theirs had curved points facing outward instead of inward, their ramshackle homes looked to form a loose circular shape that seemed to spiral toward a center point.
The closer the yurts got to the center the more closely packed they became. We appeared to be on the outskirts of the camp, having only a handful of other homes close to ours. I noticed the yurts I saw were all significantly smaller than our own, both in size and the number that made up a single home. It seemed my suspicions about our family being well off were correct. As we continued I realized we were not walking along the loose soil and grass but instead on a well-worn pathway, it appeared to be made from sand and had a strong dip in its center. It was obvious this path had been made from repeated use and not constructed by hand.
Our steady trek drew us closer to the camp proper and soon we could see and hear it teaming with life. Voices rang out from all directions, from normal chatter to people barking orders and even a few arguments. We soon found ourselves in a massive throng of people, Hoblins, and more of the race that guarded our gates were everywhere. I reached out a hand and gently tugged on my mother's finger, she looked at me from the corner of her eye.
“What is it girl?” she asked, her tone low.
“Those men that were at our gate, what were they?” I asked trying to keep my voice low, the same way she had. Mother shifted her gaze away from me and looked forward once again.
“They were Orcus, like your father,” she stated calmly, unaware of the gravity of the information she had just given me. The guards at our gates were Orcus, that was another of our races I could put faces to. And my father was one of them. It made her comment from before, about expecting a daughter who was a Hoblin or Orcus, make more sense. I also tried to wrap my brain around the fact that my father, wherever he was, was a giant of a man who could no doubt snap my arm in half with just his thumb and forefinger.
It was terrifying and also absurdly cool. Looking at the men at the gate, how they were dressed and the history of Suu'der's wounds told me our father was a warrior. Maybe that's why we never saw him? I couldn't dwell long on that thought as I was once more swept away in the sights and sounds that now overwhelmed my senses. All around us throngs of people were at work, crafting armor and weapons, selling dried meats, spices, jewels, clothing, tools, and even animals.
Dotted amongst the crowd I saw several Wargs and Staghorns, some were being ridden, others were simply loaded with sacks and boxes. I turned my head in every direction possible quickly snapping from one sight to the next, trying to see everything, to the point I started to get dizzy. A quick glance at my brothers told me they were in the same dizzying state of awe, as they did their best to absorb the sites and sounds of the camp.
As we made our way through the throngs of people I realized that despite the dense crowd and the fact that neither my brothers nor I were paying attention to where we were walking, we had yet to collide with anyone. Not even brush up against someone by mistake. It was then that I realized that the crowd seemed to part for us as we wound our way through the clusters of yurts, stalls, pens, and work areas. Mother led us with self-assured steps through the crowd, my brothers and I all clinging closely behind her, and with each step she took, anyone that stood in front of us quickly made way without her needing to utter a single word.
Most of the Hoblins and Orcus seemed to look indifferent, others seemed too absorbed in their own business to even notice us. But occasionally I would lock eyes with someone and be met with a cold stare, sometimes I thought I even saw disgust and anger in their eyes. My siblings and I held tight to each other, even without Mother's warning to stay next to her at all times, I doubted any of us would have strayed. Suddenly my eye was drawn to movement among the crowd, it stood out to me because it was far closer to the ground than anything else, nearly eye level.
I focused in on the movement and found it to be another Goblin, he was roughly my height standing at around four feet tall, and his body appeared thicker and more muscled than that of mine and my brothers. His face also looked different, there were noticeable lines at the corner of his eyes, I realized despite his size he wasn't a child like we were. He caught my gaze and with my free hand, I waved at him. The Goblin looked me over, then sneered at me and spat in our direction. I was taken aback by his response. While I could somewhat understand a cold look here or there from an Orcus or Hoblin, my mother had said things were complicated between races, but I hadn't expected to face rude and disrespectful treatment from my own race.
I then took in the Goblin man's clothing was tattered and stained, his lower half covered by a loincloth made from an animal hide. Unlike the hides in our yurt, this one had jagged cut edges and looked tough and crusted, with the fur missing in spots. It was secured at his waist with a piece of rope that appeared to be made from grass braided together. His chest was covered with a leather chest plate, while in a similar style to the ones the Orcus wore, this one was also tattered and looked to be falling apart.
The craftsmanship was also poor, looking almost as of it was pieced together from whatever leather they could find. Their feet were covered with a scrap of hide that was draped around their foot and tied at the ankle by the same grass rope. At his waist hung a tattered leather bag and a dagger with a warped and rusted blade, I was certain the spoons we use to eat with were sharper than that blade.
I looked down at my own clothing, with its intricate stitchwork and ornate jewelry, and suddenly felt uncomfortable. I looked around the crowds and noticed that, while significantly better dressed than the Goblin man, the rest of the crowd appeared rather shabby. While most of the Orcus wore deel's, they were mostly a dark brown color, appearing to be made of simple tanned leather with no beading or stitchwork. The Hoblins all appeared to have some sort of tool belt or pouches on their waist, and a much broader array of clothing.
Some of them wore deels, others appeared to simply wrap a solid cloth piece around their torso and secure it with a belt. Some of them had long sleeves but most had them cut off at the midpoint of their upper arm or even higher. A few of the women had layered skirts like mothers, but many simply had the train from their shirts that fell to mid-thigh, the rest of their legs were covered with loose-fitting pants. I felt sick as a heavyweight dropped in the pit of my stomach as I felt a new piece of the puzzle I was struggling with slide into place.
Everyone in this camp be they Hoblin, Orcus, or Goblin was poor and struggling, at least compared to us. Part of what I was seeing in the hateful stairs was resentment for the fact that we did not struggle or want for anything. And they did. We continued through the crowd and I watched as the Goblin man scurried underfoot, darting between people's legs, followed by a few other Goblins all wearing similar tattered armor and rusty weapons.
I tried not to dwell on what I had seen and realized, instead attempting to distract myself with the wares and people of the new part of the camp we had entered. This place seemed to be where most of the food was sold as the smell of spices and cooking meat filled the air. Though nowhere near as mouth-watering as my mothers cooking the scents that filled my nose were far from unpleasant. I let my eyes wander the stalls and bags, spotting people selling Lamot roots, and even some Dwart blood sticks. I also saw countless other roots and vegetables I didn't recognize, along with a variety of meats being sold, some raw others smoked or dried.
Food was hanging from lines, piled on tables, stuffed into bags, and bubbling in large stock pots. We passed by one such large bubbling pot and I noticed the smell coming from it was different, I couldn't put a name to it but I had never smelled anything quite like it. We passed close by the stall as a Hoblin man stirred the pot's contents and I stood on tiptoe attempting to get a look at what he was preparing. It definitely smelled like meat, and as I craned my head to get a better look I felt my blood run cold.
It was just for a split second, I may not have even seen anything at all, it was probably my imagination. I tried to convince myself, but a voice deep inside me said that I had made no mistake. I clutched Malkadians hand tighter and looked at him. I saw not only Mal but Drazahar and Maka as well, their faces were pale and the look of horror and uncertainty was plain to see. Their faces only further confirmed the growing sense of dread. What I had seen in the pot was a small humanoid leg with green skin.