Crackling of a hungry flame kept Jale company while he awaited the three others to build a shelter. An unexpected sandstorm had halted them yesterday and set them off schedule. In a bold, and perhaps dumb, move they had chosen to push on even after the moon came out. Trying to reach the oasis to reduce the time spent there.
Unfortunately, the cold bit at exposed skin like a thousand tiny flies. Stinging your nerves until you were both numb and in unbearable pain. All while white fingers spread across any vegetation you could see, freezing whatever moisture they could reach.
Times like this really made him wonder what he had signed up for, and how he got here to begin with. Most of them answered led back to the criminal, if he hadn't been escorting him that fateful night, they wouldn't be here now.
I could be warm in my bed right now, resting from a day of serving my people... His silent complaints swirled around while he waited.
"There! Insulated, quick! Get out of this wind!" Roon called to him, slipping into the small shelter.
Jale jumped up, kicking sand over the flame until it died before rushing over to take cover. Inside had been a few degrees warmer just from the lack of wind, a fire would make it perfect.
"Let's never do that again," Darael grumbled, rubbing his bare arms.
"You did want cooler weather." The commander teased back, blowing into his own hands.
With a scoff, the ginger rolled his eyes. "I wanted cooler weather. Not to freeze to death."
After that, the warlock held his hands out, touching his fingertips to the ground. As he slowly raised them, a small flame grew from the sand. The maekgik display instantly warmed the shelter to a wonderful cozy temperature.
With a hummed note of approval, Jale embraced the warmth the small fire gave off. Red and orange danced in the center of the hut, giving off no smoke and consuming no fuel— maegik fire. This was a moment he could find appreciation for the talents of the warlock, real fire would suffocate itself or the people in such a confined room.
Roon didn't seem very phased by the cold, which was understandable with his fur coat and western origins. Instead, he let the others huddle around the flames, his own insulation fluffing up while he checked the sealed walls.
"No wind, we're good. I agree with Darael though, no more night travel until we're out of this desert," the zerdal said, sitting in the soft sand.
Jale gave a single nod before moving back to find the food bags. Digging through the well-crafted hide and linen container to find four apples and some jerky for the team.
He passed the food out and settled on the fine sand. It had been the only good part of the nights here, comfortable even when cold. A crunch welcomed his teeth as they sunk into the fruit, sweet juices flowed down his chin and tickled his neck.
Pressing his lips to the skin of the apple, he sucked while biting into it. Its crisp taste and tender flesh delighted his senses more than he cared to admit. The fresh fruit had been a most appreciated supply the zerdals gave them, eating just what you hunt gets tiresome.
The warlock watched him from across the fire, either disappointed in the mess or amused. It was incredibly difficult to read the red-haired man.
"What?" Jale finally asked when his apple was reduced to just the core.
"Nothing. I've just never seen someone... devour a fruit so messily." Darael tossed the words across the flame with concerning neutrality.
The commander narrowed his eyes, studying the other man. What did he mean by that? Unable to tell if it had been an insult or playful comment, he could only stare.
"Calm down. It wasn't negative."
Tesk brought her hand up to silence their weird conversation. "Listen."
The tall man picked his head up, slowing his breaths to listen. Snaps and faint cracks came from the fire's dance, gentle rumbles growled against the walls as the wind rushed by. But he couldn't hear anything odd.
Roon did though. The zerdal perked his ears up before rotating them to focus on Darael— or rather, behind the pale man.
The troll moved to crouch low to the ground, her hand snaking out to grab the ginger by an arm. His light vocal protests were ignored and he was pulled away from the wall.
"Ask me to move, why don't you... Fucking Divine crazed lunatics..." The warlock complained, plopping down behind the commander.
He barely glanced at the man, training his attention to what the others had. Once the fire was blocked from his brain, he could hear it. A gentle scraping, or scratching, against the wall. Something had been trying to find a way in.
"What do you think it is?" Jale asked, instinctively reaching for his missing sword.
Roon's tail twitched and he offered only a shrug. But Tesk gave him a look and responded for the zerdal.
"No telling for sure, native animals to this environment can withstand the freeze much better than us. None of us are experienced with desert creatures."
It made sense and he returned a nod, all the more reason to fear and respect the area. Even the locals avoid being out here at night, traveling only in big groups to deter unwanted visitors.
With the four of them pressed against the wall, it got real cramped real fast. But, the three able to hear the noise refused to move back nor let the warlock crawl back.
The commander tilted his head. "It stopped."
Roon growled lightly, his ears continued to track something on the outside. Telling the humans that the sound hadn't stopped.
Darael opened his mouth and took in a breath to say something, but he never got the chance.
Tesk moved first, she lunged forward with her hand ax ready. The troll hit the sand with the first swing and the wall with the next.
The short furry man observed for a second, letting the warrior fight. Until a creature slithered from the sand and coiled itself. A flurry of snarls and curses of every tongue fell from the usually peaceful zerdal.
Once spotting the snake, he knew why. The creature’s scales were nearly identical to the color of the sand, with blue-tinted white lines crossing its back. Bright red eyes shone from the reptile’s face, now glowing to show its anger and maegik warnings. No telling what it could actually do, red was associated with self enhancemental maegik.
Roon barked out zerdalian curses that even Jale didn't know, keeping himself low to keep the snake focused on him.
The vile critter hissed and coiled only tighter. Its white patterns shimmered deep red with additional warnings, as it spit out a squirt of liquid.
With a strong thud, metal sliced through the neck of the reptile. Blood flooded over the sand as the separated head collapsed under the force and the body withered. The length of the snake curled and convulsed, muscles reacting to the lack of brain in an unsettling manner.
Darael had, during the entire scuffle, pressed against the opposite wall, finally expressing real fear. Whether it was from the critter or troll's display of aggression, one couldn't be sure.
Jale didn't have time to do anything amidst the chaos, only able to watch in horror mixed admiration. A look towards the zerdal caused concern, however. The left side of the small man's face was scrunched in reactive pain.
"Roon?" the commander asked, relaxing his posture to express his worry.
"It hit me, I just don't know what with," Roon responded in his tongue, which Jale understood. Lifting a hand to touch his injury before Tesk stopped him.
The troll grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face. "Bloodneidr... We must wash where it spit. Toxic blood or paralyzing poison, either one you don't want on your face."
He bit his own tongue, an immediate solution crossing his mind. Would it work? Would the man even agree?
"Darael... Can you... Conjure water?" Jale asked a bit tentatively.
The ginger looked up from the snake, blinking a few times at the question. But, he did nod.
They made the zerdal lay on his back, covering his eye with a cloth while the warlock worked. Hands clasped together, then were pulled apart. His pearl fingers and the muscles in his arms flexed to show how hard he had been pulling. Clenched teeth and furrowed brows, strained and struggled breaths. Even someone naturally born with an advantage had to work to manipulate such a demanding task.
To bring moisture where there is hardly wouldn't be without tax. As a glob of odd-looking water formed in the gap between his digits, Darael let out a faint grunt. When about a bowlful had been conjured, the warlock relaxed and brought the now normal-looking water down to Roon's face.
The clear liquid ran down the zerdal's cheekbone and through his fur, filling the off-white sand with a brown film. Unfortunately, the dark grey fur joined the saliva remnants on the ground.
"Does your skin hurt? Burn?" Tesk questioned, inspecting the exposed skin.
"No... Not anymore."
Darael pressed his hands into the ground, leaning back before sitting a bit forcefully. "Can your eye see?"
Roon removed the cloth and blinked. His multicolored gaze traveled the room before the brown one was hidden behind his eyelid. A relieved sigh left his lips.
"Yes."
The troll patted the small man on his shoulder and nodded. "Good."
Jale brought his own eyes to the dead snake. There had only been two spitting snakes in these parts; the leechsnake, and the much less dangerous mimic. He, however, was not well versed enough in desert animals to know the difference. Leechsnakes paralyze victims with their venom to drain blood from, while cactus drinkers feast only on the prickly plant's milk.
He took the reptile by the tail and exposed spine, pushing through the door to fling the carcass into the dunes. No need to risk their own lives to eat it when they had plenty of food and many other animals could enjoy a snack.
Once the entrance was sealed again, the tall man laid his gaze on the warlock, he didn't look very good. Paler than normal and overall drained.
"Darael?" he asked while crouching next to him.
His human companion raised his eyes, but not his head. "I'll be fine... I just... Can't make something out of nothing."
Jale didn't know how he felt about that and moved over to bury the bloody ground under fresh sand. It would appear Tesk had already done that to the water mark from Roon's rinsing.
He's used to it, he knows how to recover from such a taxing spell. But, perhaps... No. He'll be fine. Both of them. His conflicted feelings swirled in his skull, distracting him from his surroundings. They would just have to see what happens.
Strong rays welcomed the morning, melting the frost to add a touch of moisture, even if it would be gone in a handful of minutes. A distant animal called across the land, alone and sad. Yet, with a small twist of knowledge, the lone cry turned into a hopeful song.
Jale sat in the sand, listening to the distant calls, while he waited for the rest of his group to stir. After last night he knew Darael would need extra sleep, and the troll insisted Roon stay up until they knew the venom hadn't done anything to him.
In his lap, laid his new bow. The blue shimmer fascinating him simply because wood doesn't retain its maegik energy when cut and crafted with. Yet, this weapon proved that wrong. His hands gently cradled the object while he enjoyed the dawn's warmth, and he couldn't tell which one made him happier.
Even after a scene of panic from wildlife, he could admire the desert and all the life in it. A dry region with salty sand and intense temperature changes, anything living here deserves appreciation.
Rustling from behind caught his attention, and looking back he could see Roon.
"Good morning," the dark zerdal greeted.
"Morning." He replied, patting the ground beside him.
His companion settled beside him, but his face looked odd. Even if you got past the missing fur, something was different.
"How are you today?"
The short man sighed and licked his lips. "My face is numb... But other than that, I'm okay."
Jale frowned lightly. "Numb? Or paralyzed?"
His friend scrunched his face, but the muscle on his cheek didn't move. Part of his mouth also refused to move on its own, which confirmed his fear.
"Will it wear off?"
Roon dropped his ears. "Maybe, Tesk isn't sure. She thinks the fur protected my nerves from the brunt of the venom, but we've never seen a bloodneidr in the flesh. Have no idea what their venom does."
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Taking a deep breath, the commander nodded a response. Hopefully, it wouldn't be permanent, zerdals are very expressive, and even losing half a face of expression would stress them out.
"Well, what are you doing out here, Jale?"
A subject change that anyone could have seen coming.
He held up the bow a bit. "Just admiring the craftsman of this... And appreciating the sunlight."
His company hummed. "So... How did you learn zerdalian?" This was asked in the zerdal's native language.
Jale gave a sheepish shrug. "Rardor taught me, and before you ask, we met at a bar back when I just entered training. He thought if he taught even one of the blind warriors following the rules to see what he saw, that it would somehow fix the world."
He had spoken in the same tongue, though his speech wasn't as deep or rough. His growled letters natural but odd, someone comfortable with the language even if their vocal cords couldn't make the right sounds.
Roon gave a rather impressed sound, his tail brushing the sand aside in soft wags. "So, do you know what Rardor told me then?"
A nod was given. "And he knows it too."
His companion laughed, shaking his head. "Then you are unwise to ignore or dismiss the words. He's not Head of the Market for nothing."
Jale scoffed a deep sound, running his fingers over the bow. "I couldn't. He told me the same thing for years. But, I can't go chasing tails when I have a city to protect and men to train."
"And that is exactly your problem."
Shaking his head, the tall man tilted his head back. The sky had woken up completely now, and the warmth had turned to heat. They'd have to leave now to make up for yesterday.
"We need to leave now if we wish to return to our schedule. Darael can sleep in the wagon."
Roon sighed, his expression dropping into a dejected manner. But, he nodded and stood. "I'll get the cart ready."
Jale stretched his legs out before bringing himself up. His hand secured the weapon back to his torso as he walked over to the hut. Inside the shelter the troll sat to the side, ensuring the bags were ready for travel.
Curled around the flames lay Darael's frame. The fire licked mere inches from his skin, but he seemed content in his sleep. Looking peaceful even.
Shaking the thoughts away, the commander knelt and gave the pale man a gentle shake. "Darael."
He was met with a groan and the other rolling away from him.
"Come on, you can sleep in the wagon, but we must leave."
Another irritated sound. "Let me sleep."
"I just said you can keep sleeping, you just have to get into the wagon," he said, grabbing the man's arm.
"But... The sun..."
Sighing, Jale pulled his arm before scooping his own arm under the warlock's frame. With relative ease he pulled his companion over his shoulder, they'd just have to do it this way.
"Put the fire out please." His commanding pleads to the troll were uttered as he carried the pale man out of the shelter.
Darael whined complaints at the sunlight, giving zero attempts to help Jale move him. Like a sack of potatoes, he remained rather limp.
As he sighed, heaving him into the back mutters fell from him.. "Don't help me. I got you..."
The ginger didn't even respond this time, instead, he settled into the wooden bed. His hair had collected a handful of mats and plenty of sand, but neither were concerns currently.
I never knew maegik could drain you that much... Divines don't torture him so... He silently pondered and prayed. Though he didn't care for the criminal, he wouldn't want to see him wither away.
A loud crack brought him to look behind him, where the hut crumbled into the ground. Gone without a trace in seconds— the power of maegik.
Roon stepped over, glancing at Darael before climbing into the driver's seat.
Tesk joined the zerdal at the front, leaving the tall man to sit in the back once more.
"Jale, make sure he's comfortable, he spent too much of his own energy to conjure water. I'd prefer our warlock is feeling normal before night." Tesk commanded, it was not a plea.
He scowled but nodded. "Of course."
While traveling, the two in the front chatted about things in trollish, most likely to prevent Jale from understanding their conversation. While he quietly made arrows from spare supplies. The ginger slept, rolled around, and slept some more, but nobody could blame him.
They didn't stop this day, choosing instead to eat and drink on the go. Although it made better progress, Roon slowly felt the work catching up to him. By nightfall the zerdal turned their vehicle into a hut, hoping to avoid the same situation as the previous night, and crashed pretty hard.
Jale had to nearly force the warlock to drink through the day and food had been nibbled before night. Better than nothing, but the idea that his man may be suffering bothered him in ways he refused to acknowledge. He himself had a hard time falling asleep that night, pressed against the others as they all crammed together in the cart.
Morning came and they went. The warlock had given a few of his normal snarky responses but still remained pretty out of it. Was a definite improvement, however, and it made the group travel in better spirits.
Out of real things to do, the commander gave in and lain himself in the cart. Watching the sky as they moved, there was something ethereal about it. Weightless clouds danced on the blue canvas, happy and without a single care. How nice it must be.
"Sleeping on the job... Shame on you..." Darael's voice teased.
Jale didn't turn his gaze to look at him. "I'm not sleeping..."
His company hummed a doubtful sound, rolling onto his back. "Ugh, I feel like... Like I've drunk too much."
He chuckled. "All the reasons you need water."
The warlock mumbled something unintelligible, scratching at his peeling skin.
"I'm sorry?" Jale tilted his head to look at him, reaching out to gently slap his hand. "Quit, it won't heal if you pick at it."
"It's not going to heal under the sun..." The first question was completely ignored.
While true, the commander just stared. This man never listened, but always heard him. Such a strange person.
Darael grumbled, resting his forearms over his eyes to shut the light out.
And just like that, he had fallen back into his restoring slumber.
"A river!" Roon cried, commanding the wagon away from the path.
Jale sat up, peering over the front of the vehicle. Sure enough, off the well-worn trail ran a line of water. He chuckled and nodded.
"That is a river. What a sight."
Twenty years of a drought, then two months of traveling through the driest of lands made this natural and common water more than beautiful.
They had been on the road two weeks since leaving The Market and had entered the cool forest that bordered the grasslands and mountain range. Great time for sure, but to the commander, it couldn't be fast enough.
"Oh thank the Divines, I want a bath." Darael sighed, not even stirring from his rested position.
While he couldn't blame the ginger for wishing for a cleaning, he had been thinking more of a camp spot and fresh unboiled water. Though, a bath sounded good too.
When the cart rolled to a stop on the bank of the river, all four of them climbed out to greet the water. Tesk and Roon knelt on the side to inspect and drink the liquid, while the humans watched from a bit of distance.
"Clean as always," the zerdal said, wagging his tail.
The troll nodded, then removed her top leather, though the other cover remained, and jumped into the water.
Darael tossed his own cloth clothing aside, which included his trousers. Left only in his birthday suit, the lightly tanned man dove in after her.
Jale watched, only to avert his gaze when his companions removed clothes. He had nothing against the idea of nude river bathing, but it felt odd to watch the other's strip down.
A third splash told him the zerdal had joined the other two. Giggles and delighted laughs came from the group, it pulled the commander to lighten up.
Giving in yet again, Jale pulled the thread that held his leather breastplate together. It fell to the ground in an almost relieving manner, a large swell of air filled his lungs. Without the armor, his chest felt odd and it took him back a moment.
Has it really been that long since I've taken it off completely? While on the road, I live in my armor... He sighed and loosened the guards protecting his wrists and they joined the other leather.
His final move was to remove the clothes that he wore under the armor— down to his underwear of course. Not quite as confident or free as Darael.
Relieved of the hide protection Jale felt both lightened and exposed, but the pros were outweighing the cons currently. The tall man strode over to the bank with long steps, judging the depth from how the zerdal and troll swam and the human seemed to switch between standing and swimming.
"Look at you!" Roon called to the commander.
He hummed back, shrugging a bit as he crept into the cool water. Without his added bulk his graceful frame really shone through, even if his muscles messed up his outline.
"I didn't know you could remove the armor," Darael commented, standing in a small current to comb through his hair.
Jale scoffed, letting the liquid rise up his abdomen and to his chest. "Out here, I just prefer sleeping in it should we get ambushed."
Tesk gave an amused sound, swimming over to sit in the shallows. "Didn't help you much when Jor'al got you on the head."
"I meant more, animal attack. An ambush by trolls or elves is one-sided, a human would never stand a chance."
The warlock absent-mindedly fiddled with his strands. "Your clothes really make you seem..." He trailed off before restarting. "Your legs are longer than your clothing makes it seem."
Roon had joined the troll on the edge, enjoying his own natural state with his partner. "Probably his elf blood. They have legs for miles, their torsos never really stretched to keep important muscle and fat over organs. Long legs help them cover flat and uneven land quickly, like a horse."
Jale didn't respond, unsure how the attention to his body made him feel. Instead, he filled his chest with air and submerged himself. The water clear and soothing, he looked at the bed. Covered in flat and featureless rocks that gave him a sense of reassurance; all the rocks were different, yet the same.
While under, he combed through his own hair. The black mess was thick and a bit out of control as the current swirled it around. He could faintly hear a conversation above him and it brought him to glance towards the warlock. A red stream of silky ribbons flowed through the river, reaching out to follow the waves.
Dull thuds grew in his ear, though he ignored it a moment longer. Enchanted by the pale man's locks as they painted a streak through the water. Then, he remembered where they were and what this man was, or not, wearing.
Ringing screamed at his ears, his heart pounded in his chest and his eyes faded, all demanding air. At a soft sound, water spilled into his lungs.
Jale pushed himself from the water, coughing at the sting of liquid in his chest. Forcing the water back through his nose, he shuddered and looked down at the zerdal— who had appeared at his side to help.
"Why didn't you come up sooner?" the short man asked.
He shook his head and backed up a bit, sitting on a rock. "I— I don't know."
Roon studied him a moment, before pressing an ear against the tall man's bare chest. The soaked fur felt weird against his skin, but he'd let the man listen.
"You don't sound full of water. Good. Now, what on Soilth made you push your limits so far?"
He shrugged, averting his blue gaze to observe the river— and unintentionally the ginger.
A doubtful huff came from the zerdal. "You don't know?"
Though, a moment of silence caused Roon to glance where the commander's attention was and a gentle chuckle rumbled from him.
"What?" Jale asked, finally turning his head to the short man.
"Nothing. Get some air and then enjoy yourself. I'll set up the camp and get some lunch cooking."
He watched the zerdal walk over to the cart, wondering what he meant by that.
I hate when people do that, just tell me what you found funny at least. The tall man let his mind drift while he sat waist-deep in the water.
Tesk stood from her seat and went to join Roon, which left Darael standing neck-deep in the river. The ginger was still combing through his long hair, hardly a surprise given how long it had been since it got a cleaning.
Perhaps I've been too hard on him. No, no, he murdered someone, my actions are justified. He sighed and leaned forward, pushing the water away with his shoulder as he launched through the shallows. Still, no reason to be stiff out here in the wilderness; laws don't apply outside human borders.
"If you tell me to cut it, I will remove your tongue."
Jale brought himself to stand on the riverbed but kept his shoulders under the surface.
"Pardon me?" he asked.
Darael shrugged his right shoulder nonchalantly. "My dad doesn't like the length very much and a lot of my classmates mock me, tell me to cut it or try to while I'm not looking."
The commander frowned a touch. "That's rude... I think it suits you."
"That so? Odd, I wish I could say the same."
"What do you mean by that?" He gave a playful pout and ran his fingers through his black hair.
The warlock hummed a chuckled and moved his own hands away from his hair. "Not to be... Hypocritical, but I think it's too long for you. It looks as if it wants to stand up, even wet."
Chuckling back, he shook his head. "Well, it takes forever for my hair to grow out, this took almost fifteen years. I don't think cutting it is an option."
"Fifteen and it only just touches your shoulders? Keep spinning such excuses and I may just have to believe the tale that you are indeed a hybrid."
Darael always spoke with certainty, words always chosen specifically. So, when he said hybrid vs mutant, it caught him off guard.
"You don't believe it?" Jale asked, standing a bit straighter to expose his shoulders.
"I believe desperate humans can agree to anything to save people they care for."
He watched the other man for a moment, studying his mannerisms and posture. Did this man really think this was all a ruse?
The ginger looked up at him and flared his nostrils before sinking into the water. His playful gaze taunted the commander, green jewels of beckoning peering through the crystal clear water.
Rolling his eyes, he dove under after him— only to see what he was up to. His companion smirked lightly and grabbed one of the rocks lining the bed, pointing to him then the ground to indicate he should also grab one.
It wasn't a normal thing he does while in a river, or even at a beach. But, he'd play along; grabbing a fist-sized stone before following him back to the surface.
"So, why did I have to grab a rock?"
Darael hummed and held his empty hand out. "Because, commander, I still don't think you understand fun."
He handed the stone over. "What fun can you have with rocks?"
The warlock dropped both the rocks, down they sank. "You can't really, I just wanted to see how opted you are to follow me."
Jale made a minor mistake of watching the objects fall through the water, past the pale man's body. Which prompted the other to laugh lightly and spin around once, his hair wrapping loosely around his body.
"Bet you can't catch me," his company said before swimming backward.
With that verbal— and playful— taunt, he pushed off the ground to launch through the river. The other shrieked at the intent visible in the commander and turned around to swim away, his red hair tangled around his limbs.
It brought a smile to his lips, a genuine one. Chasing the ginger through the slow current and deep center, then back over the shallows had actually been fun.
When they decided to stop it had been because the food scents brought them out, swimming around worked up their appetite. Roon had been making some stew with their various meats and seasonings.
Darael had, thankfully, put his trousers on before sitting next to the fire. Wringing his hair out and trying to keep it off the ground.
When he sat nearby, he caught a weird gaze from the zerdal— sly maybe. He tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Roon hummed and shrugged. "Nothing, you just seem happy."
Jale found himself wondering if that was a good thing or not. What does that mean? Do I normally not look happy?
The warlock smiled at the small man. "We come from a land lacking water, of course, a river would make him happy."
"That and it's been a long while since I've been able to play tag without trying to actually harm someone." He added, taking one of the bowls offered.
Tesk looked at him. "You don't have fun with friends? You don't look that old."
"I'm flattered you think chasing me is fun," Darael hummed in amusement, being given a bowl as well.
As he ate lunch, he wondered what they were implying. It's not right for him to make a joke that indicates something so... Wiked. Temptation like that isn't normal, I know he's mentally unstable but...
Silence filled the air while they ate, with Roon giving the humans odd looks. As if he knew something they didn't, or maybe knew harmful knowledge. Nothing worried him more than thoughts that lie behind sly eyes and knowing smiles. Well, maybe the elves. He knew they'd have to reach the elves sooner or later, but he didn't want that. Helpful or not, the last thing he'd want to do is crawl into an elven village and beg forgiveness for the human's actions to them.