Humidity. It was pervasive. Ankirat had not yet reached It’s full height and yet the day burned with heat and humidity. She waded through the air, cursing every time she slipped in the dirt or got snagged by a branch. The gentle breeze she stirred with her quick march was the only comfort she had. Her gambeson and chain shirt weighed on her like lead.
Beyond the heat and damp that clung around her in a cloud, her legs ached and strained around knots in the muscle. Days on the march had caused swirling seizes in her thighs and calves. A night spent sleeping on dirt and rock was not enough to soothe them, and so after almost a week of walking the pain built until she could not ignore it. Ogroth was her only goal, her only ambition, as all other matters mental and emotional were ground into nothing by the constant step-after-step of walking.
The first break she got from this grueling monotony was the cracking of a branch in the jungle near her path. Before her head turned to find the source of the noise her mace was in her hand and her shield was unslung from her shoulder. Out beyond the brush was an Orc, similarly surprised. Aileen herself felt ungainly among other humans, but this Orc hulked over her. A faded gray with deep black-green splotches across their scalp and shoulders and face, they crouched and frozen staring back at her. The white of their tusks contrasting against their skin. Braided, raven-black hair hung from the top of their scalp; the sides of their head were shaved.
They froze, watching each other. Slowly, the Orc unbent from their crouch, and nodded to her. Aileen could not tell if they were a man or woman, but they bulged with muscle despite being a full head taller than her. They were even taller than the men from the north in Lamante, who were sickly pale and lanky. They were thicker across the shoulders and around than the stout Dwarves, and undoubtedly heavier. Why are they nodding at me? The stories from the monks were correct in the size of the Orcs, but this one must’ve been an exception to their marauding ways.
Tentatively, Aileen nodded and kept moving. Surely Orcs have more reasons to hate Dwarves than humans, or else Murdoc wouldn’t ask me to meet him here. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake her unease. She could hear noises all around her from the jungle. Beasts and birds and streams and trees. She wasn’t sure what an Orc city would sound like, but she imagined it would stand out against the jungle. Her first clue was a sudden silence on the path ahead of her. She tested the weight of her mace in her hands.The path took a bend around a thick bend of trees and brush. Then it leaped up, and curved right back down. At the height of this bump in the road she saw Ogroth for the first time.
It was ringed by sections of wood walls carved from trunks driven deep into the ground. The city was massive and free-form, with dirt roads and open-walled markets. The homes were small and circular, never rising above a single floor. There were larger buildings, as well as square ones, but Aileen noticed that no structure was made of stone. The second thing she noticed was the children.
They ran around in packs giggling and laughing, playing games with each other, and no guards or watchmen cursed at them or kicked them. Turgandy was not egalitarian, and some fiefdoms were vastly different from the others. Where she lived, at the fringe of Count Lucuan’s land, street children were arrested on sight. Even as a monk she was questioned about her origins. Here they played freely, and some adults stooped low to join in their games.
At the base of the hill was a gate set into a circular gatehouse. Aileen could see the edges of the section of the wall that the gate was built onto, but she could also see the groups of Orcs who idled around those gaps. They had mastered a casual atmosphere and seemed to be there by coincidence, unaware and unimportant. She forced herself to approach the wall, and almost jumped when a gravelly voice stopped her from the battlement of the wooden gatehouse.
“Halt! Who–”
“Hullo! Who goes there?”
Two mottled gray orcs turned to look at each other between tree-trunk merlons. “Anhat, please, allow me to do the talking.”
“Why’s that?” Anhat asked.
“You could learn from my experience, is why. Traveler, what is your name?” The other one cried.
“I am Aileen,” she replied.
“Why–”
“Eye-leen?” Anhat interrupted.
“Yes, that's it,” she replied with a growing smile. Seems like Anhat’s first shift.
“Peace, Anhat!” The other chided again. “Aileen! In order to enter you must disarm yourself! That mace and your shield may not enter, and will be kept here by our quartermaster!”
Her smile died. That doesn’t sound good, “what promise do I have that I will be able to retrieve them, or that they won’t be used?”
“Oh no, quartermaster is a real good fellow!” Anhat called down. The other Orc sighed and drooped over the battlement as his companion went on. “Last Judge’s Day she saved me a whole cask of Krake’Tiar Amber and we drank it together in a watchtower under the stars! You’ll like her a lot, I think.”
His companion groaned. “Anhat, you and I must speak together. Traveler Aileen, knock at the gate and surrender your weapons. You have our oath that they do not leave this building and that we will stop you from leaving until you collect them. Now Anhat, you–”
He was cut off as they pulled themselves away from the edge. It was a bemused Aileen that knocked a gloved fist on the wooden gate. It swung open to reveal a towering Orc, the quartermaster, and a number of guards. They did not have the iron-tipped spears or steel swords that Turgish guards carried, nor the axes, hammers and shields of the dwarves. Theirs were narrow wooden clubs with knapped-stone blades set into them, and long pikes with charred black tips. One carried a thick recurve bow that looked more like a plank than a bow, and the arrows that bristled from their quiver were thicker around than her pointer finger.
The quartermaster swaggered up with crossed arms, each thicker around than Aileen’s legs. She could see the hints of human femininity in the Orc, the slight bulge at the chest and a clean chin, but pound for pound they were just as big as any of the other guards. Aileen rechecked the others that flanked their quartermaster, trying to see if she could spot who was what.
“Your weapons, human.” The quartermaster’s voice was not the rough gravel of the guardsman’s. It reverberated around the room clearly and firmly.
Aileen let them take her shield and mace. They agonized over her mace, looking over it from several angles, even pausing to remark on its construction and guess at what culture made it. A short, stocky Orc with a constant squint wrote down everything they said, and finished with a quick sketch of Aileen herself. It highlighted her ears, hair color and height. She supposed that was all they needed to tell to identify her. During this the quartermaster interrogated Aileen.
“Your shield, Aileen, where did you find it?”
“Bought it in Mon Sulano.” Aileen said.
They raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the famous city of Mon Sulano. Known the world ‘round.”
“I bought it from a dwarf in Mon Sulano, Turgandy.” Aileen corrected. “I did not mean to avoid the question.”
“No, you were afraid to admit you came from Turgandy. You will not be jailed just for traveling from the north, Aileen.” It felt odd to be chided by an Orc.
“What’s your name?” Aileen asked.
“I am Ruan.” Ruan didn’t let the question throw her; she kept up her questioning. “Tell me about your mace.”
“A graying paladin from Fortitude gave it to me. I helped him find someone.” Aileen knew what question was coming next, but figured it would be rude to preempt Ruan.
“A mace like that, just for finding someone?”
“I was as surprised as you.”
Ruan nodded slowly, uncrossing one powerful arm to scratch at her back. “Very well, Aileen. Before you can enter you must answer this: why are you here?”
“I am meeting a dwarf with silver–”
“Silver eyes, Murdoc arrived days ago. He’s a menace, he is.” Ruan grumbled.
“You know him?” Aileen leaned forward. “Tell me, why would he ask me to meet him here?”
Ruan cocked her eyebrow again. “Why would he make you meet in the horrid city of Mathuni? He is a strange dwarf. He knows things no Folk should know." Ruan nodded. “You may enter, cause no trouble, and Aileen,”
“Yes?”
Ruan leaned forward and her voice dropped, dripping with venom. “Do not speak that word, Orc, here.” Aileen nodded slowly, matching Ruan’s gray-eyed gaze. The quartermaster inspected her seriously for a moment, then gestured for her to go. Feeling naked without her weapon or shield, she was let out into the city of Ogroth.
Without any landmarks or points of reference Aileen was forced to wander the wide, busy streets. Orcs milled about everywhere, dickering over prices or chatting amicably. She watched as one was splashed by mud and turned to speak with the offender. Rather than roar and brawl like Aileen would’ve expected, they began a hushed conversation in their language, punctuated by handshakes and gentle touches to the shoulder.
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Groups of children milled about in the spaces where the adults were not. None of them had the green-black splotching on their heads or shoulders, and were instead an even gray. One group caught sight of her, and froze. Aileen watched from the corner of her eye as one of them creeped forward towards her. She felt her hand creep toward where her mace should’ve been, and her legs stiffen against the knots that her march had built.
The child stopped several paces away, perhaps not daring to come closer. They stuck out a little hand. “Run’urah manura Mathuni j’iyon tu ji’yoni?” it babbled.
Unsure what to say, and feeling the eyes of the milling crowd on her, she reached out and gently poked the child’s hand. They grinned in delight, and cried, “Tzzt!”
The child ran back to their friends with their hand held out, chasing them away. Aileen giggled at it. Turgandy was not a land of happy children, so it was refreshing to see them playing for a change. This young they seemed almost human. The Orcs around her laughed openly at the children’s games.
This was not to say that Aileen felt totally at ease during her exploring. Even this society would have dangerous criminals and outcasts. From down the rare dark alley hulking shadows watched her with serious eyes. Aileen kept to the main streets, bumping around through the crowds. Once or twice an Orc took issue with her jostling, and turned to frown at her. No curses or shouts, just frowns. They seemed mollified when she apologized, though none of them seemed to understand her.
At last she found an island in the bustle. A large open field was dotted with small, open air structures. They were bars, both circular and rectangular, built around shelves of casks and barrels. Bottles of dark liquid shone temptingly in the bright noon light. Aileen was not a stranger to drink. In fact she was quite partial to drinking. It was one of the few luxuries the monk’s had, thanks to the vineyard that they tended and sold from to keep their sanctuary afloat. Tain’s power helped burn off the intoxication, so Aileen had worked up a mighty habit when she could.
She settled onto a rough and oversized stool at one of these bars. Behind the counter was another hulking Orc. As Aileen was trying to figure out how she would pantomime her order, she was interrupted by a commotion behind her. The bartender also took interest. Held firmly by two androgynous guards, someone gently resisted and growled out in Orcish. They did not kick or trash at their captors like a human might, and even allowed themself to be led around. What caught Aileen’s attention was how unique they looked among the others.
Their skin was a lighter shade of bluish-green instead of gray. She lacked the deep, almost black splotches across her head and shoulders, and instead had lighter shades of green. Her tusks jutted far less, and Aileen could confirm that they were a she from the human qualities that invaded their visage. Fine lips and thick eyebrows flanked glittering aqua eyes. Her hair was not the raven black of her fellows but tinged the slightest bit brown. For a brief moment, her eyes and Aileen’s met. Gorgeous, was all the cleric could think. She watched the odd trio go.
“That,” came a familiar voice from the bar beside her, “is your companion. Well, one of them.”
Aileen spun back around on her stool. Murdoc had appeared. His irises were such a polished gray that Aileen swore she could see her own reflection in them like twin mirrors. The dwarf raised a thick-knuckled hand to her, his braided beard wobbling as he spoke.
“Aileen, I am glad you could make it. Qngyn! What a miserable trek that is, I always forget.”
“Murdoc! Why did you tell me to meet you in this…” she paused to look around for eavesdroppers.
“Mathuni city?” Murdoc finished for her. He picked up one of a pair of wooden cups that had appeared with him and supped from it. “Mm. Because this is the closest point of civilization to the Endless Peninsula, and it would be best to launch your expedition from here.”
She sat back, watching the dwarf. One got the feeling that they needed to watch what they said around him. “Yes, I suppose that tracks. You say Mathuni, why?”
“It is what they call themselves.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means Forgotten,” came the rumble of the bartender, whom Aileen had forgotten about.
Murdoc nodded, some of the glinting whimsy in his eyes dying. “Aye. Aileen, about your errand–”
“You said that woman was going to be joining me. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Aileen demanded. She lived a life of solitude by choice, hovering around the edges of society. Hiking along this remote peninsula would be miserable enough, having someone else she would need to look after would make it unbearable.
“Because I knew you would react like that. You really think something this important can be trusted to just one Folk?” Murdoc countered.
“Some… drunk?”
“Don’t let her looks deceive you,” Murdoc chided, “she is a demon with a hammer, and comes from excellent parentage. I will admit I might have contributed to the state you saw her in with a drinking contest.” He looked away and sipped from his cup. With a sigh Aileen took hers and sniffed at it. Very fruity and sweet. She took a sip. And powerful.
“Tell me more about the job. I am not taking another step south until you do.” Aileen declared.
Murdoc nodded seriously. “Fairs fair. I need you and two others to march to the end of the Endless Peninsula in search of an ancient temple and retrieve from it an artifact, a letter.”
“A letter?” Aileen sputtered. “All this for a letter? Is it magic? How will we know if it is the right letter? I doubt any mundane paper free of enchantment could last for… how many years?”
Murdoc gave her a mollifying gesture. “Peace! The letter is magic, and no it won’t be trapped, cursed, or otherwise dangerous. I know it is there, because I am not the ultimate employer of this expedition. I am merely its manager.”
Aileen cocked her eyebrow at that. She felt less and less interested by the minute, and the sore knots in her legs bemoaned the wasted effort in making it this far south. “Then who is? And no clever wordsmithing, Ironeyes.”
“This expedition is the brainchild of Mialoth the Arcane and Tain, chief of the Endless Above,” Murdoc explained flatly.
Aileen froze with her cup at her lips. Clearly Murdoc was lying in some way. Tain never mentioned any of this to her in her prayers. Mialoth the Arcane was an enigmatic figure shrouded in mystery and allegations, the supposed creator of the island city where she held court. Every story about Mialoth included depictions of world shaking magic and terrifying wrath, and attempts to reach her fabled City of Flowers ended in shipwrecks. The Eye of the Iron Judge, the sea where it was said to be, was infamous for thunderous storms that forced shipping lanes to close each season.
But Murdoc did not flinch or fidget. He stared right at her, almost challenging her. Doubt invaded her mind. Her mind raced to find a way to tease more information out of him. “I don’t believe you. Show me proof.”
Murdoc pulled a folded letter from his pocket. Aileen and the bartender both leaned forward to get a better look when he smoothed it flat against the wooden bar-top. The script was flowing and the ink it was written with sparkled in the afternoon sun. Where their shadows covered it, the words glowed softly.
I, Mialoth Multadonous the Arcane, empower Murdoc Ironeyes; High-Shaper of Ultra; with the authority to hire and retain the Folk of his choice and pay them at my expense. In exchange, Murdoc Ironeyes promises both I and Tain; Chief of the Endless Above; the retrieval of one note addressed by Silva’Rhond’Ethiral to Dyla of the First Nation of Men.
The wax seal at the bottom was an eye-watering mess of arcane symbols that shimmered and flashed. Aileen traded an astonished look with the Mathuni bartender. One detail, or lack thereof, stood out to Aileen.
“What’s the pay?”
Murdoc pulled out a small purse that jingled cheerfully and handed it to her. It was the size of Aileen’s hand, and inside was silver and gold. They were not the archaic and unstable coins of Turgandy, they were the finely minted coins of Lamante. Aileen had heard that the Lantier humans shared a currency with the dwarves of Ultra, and for her this proved the rumor. She counted them as quickly as she could, and came up with two golden Tallings and twenty silver Tallings. Aileen had never learned the exchange rates of coins, nor the true value of other cultures’ coinage. From the audible gasp of the bartender, she guessed that this was a lot.
“This is your premium, for you to spend here in preparation for your journey.” Murdoc said. “I do not know how long it will take you to reach the end of the peninsula, nor how long it will take you to find the temple and letter therein. From what I know, the peninsula is almost one and a half thousand miles to its tip, so plan for months in the wilderness.”
“This is also why you will not be going alone.” His silver eyes twinkled mischievously. “Especially seeing as a week of hiking is such a task for you.” As Aileen glowered at his barb he continued, not letting her get a rebuttal in edgewise, “Your companions are Aurgin, whom you just saw, and Maker, who you have not. Maker will meet you at the edge of Ogroth the morning after next. Aurgin was supposed to help you shop around this city, but her poor public behavior has earned her temporary exile from the city.”
Aileen breathed through her indignation. “That isn’t helpful, I don’t know the language nor the signage. All this money won’t matter much if I can’t buy anything with it.”
He shrugged through another sip of his drink. “It’s only for tonight. Meet her here tomorrow morning, I’ll tell her to meet you here as well. And don’t let her start drinking again. She’s been wallowing around since her last fling fell apart.” He paused, then gave her a sideways glance. “Don’t tell her I told you that, either.”
“So being a public drunk can get you thrown out of Or–ah, Mathuni society?”
“Not quite,” the bartender interjected to answer, “but agitating behavior threatens us all. She was causing a stir, so she was escorted away.”
“Agitating?” Aileen asked.
“Aye,” Murdoc said, “the Mathuni are… cursed, in a way, by their creator. Their emotions burn hot and bright, and they burn long. You get a Mathuni angry and you will have an enraged Mathuni following you around for years. Unless they can find a cathartic release.”
The bartender frowned, highlighting his jutting tusks. “Murdoc, there is no need to use anger as an example. Aileen, what he says is some of the truth. Know that an uncomfortable or agitated Mathuni will struggle to shake that discomfort. This is doubly true for love and joy, however.”
He leaned forward on thickly muscled arms. “An agitated Mathuni could, in their state, agitate other Mathuni around them. This agitation, be it anger or discomfort, can spread across a village like a plague. We remember many cities and nations that were swallowed by a single Mathuni’s hate, and have taken steps to build a society on patience. That is why she was removed.”
Aileen digested this slowly. “And why Forgotten?”
“Because when their god stopped having a use for them, they were tossed aside and forgotten.” Murdoc said grimly. The bartender’s face twitched slightly and he pulled back to busy himself with some menial tasks. Aileen looked around at the city. Workers and artists and warriors mingled freely and amicably. The watchmen loitering about chatted freely with the citizens that passed them. There were no stockades in the streets nor processions of shame for criminals. This is the bloodthirsty city of Ogroth that has skirmished with and confounded Turgish generals for over a century?
“I recommend you get some sleep. If your legs hurt as bad as you complain, then I would advise asking Aurgin about a masseuse or a hot spring,” Murdoc said as he pulled out a silver coin to pay for their drinks. Before Aileen could respond he jumped down from his stool and ambled off, towered over by the Mathuni he mingled with.