Watching as the commander was guided onto the couch, Darael let his frown speak his concern. His green gaze searched for any signs of improvement, but his body remained out of the way.

"Jale?" Tesk asked, peering into his hazy eyes.

When the tall man didn't respond, Roon brought over a canteen. "Here, this should help."

The troll popped the stopper out and pressed the opening to Jale's lips. "Drink, or I will have to force you."

Unable to help, Darael watched from across the room. Propped up against the wall nonchalantly, he tried not to express much concern. He was still a prisoner.

I'm glad he's got people who can help on his side, I don't think I could've helped him much, or at all. But why do I care? He just wants me around so he can ensure I get my punishment... Wondering about his own thoughts, he almost missed the next words being spoken.

"Divines... What is in that," Jale said meekly, coughing as he came back to.

"Sow fat and blueberries," Tesk answered before standing up straight, "You're okay, I think you got overwhelmed."

A tinge of worry sprawled on the commander's face. "By what?"

Roon took the container back. "Hard to say, probably the orcs. Last time you were around so many orcs—."

"Was during the war." Jale finished, sinking into the cushions.

Poor thing, you never should've offered to go. Darael sighed and averted his eyes. "Maybe I should get the spices then."

The moment his lips uttered the words, he knew his captor would protest; he wasn't allowed out of his sight.

"Okay," the tall man agreed.

"Really?" The warlock felt completely stunned, but he didn't even look up.

A pause, which he assumed was Jale giving a nod before a verbal agreement was said.

With his freedom, Darael offered a soft and reassuring smile before leaving the house. As he stood in the afternoon sun, he felt his eyes drawn to the road leaving town. Tempting for sure...

He'd shake this off and head deeper into the city; towards the shops. I have a bit of trust, a bit of... Freedom. Why would I ruin it all now? Sure, he'll turn me in next chance he gets, and I'll be brain tortured until I forget my own name. But, I kinda like seeing the continent before my fate, learning and experiencing better societies.

It wouldn't take him long to reach the market. Clean streets and vaguely merchant-looking stalls called the human down the road. Strolling down the square designed for selling, Darael saw all sorts of orcs working the stalls. Some sold fish or meat, others spices or vegetables, and a small handful sold metals and wood.

"There's a human here, perhaps he needs a bed," one orc said in Orcish.

The warlock kept to himself until he reached a promising stall with plenty of options for food. Dried herbs hung from rungs, while baskets of ripe fruits and vegetables sat on the counter.

A light grey orc stood behind the wooden window, their nostrils opening wide to take in the new scent.

"I can't speak Human, you'll have to look elsewhere."

Darael relaxed upon hearing the statement in Orcish, knowing he could answer anyways. "What if I know Orcish?"

Impressed, the merchant waved a large hand over their wares. "In that case, what would you like?"

Running a hand thoughtfully through his hair, the ginger inspected the food. "What do you have in terms of spices?"

A few vials were moved front and center. "Dragon salt, ground cave moss, sweet dust, and some mule milk."

Darael hummed thoughtfully, fetching an iron coin from his pocket. "How about some moss and milk?"

The orc nodded, taking a basket from the ground to place the two items in it. A jar of mossy crumbs and a second larger jar filled with a cream-colored liquid rested snuggly in the woven container.

Giving a grin, the warlock placed the coin in their hand. "Those look lovely! Thank you so much, rah."

With his fingers gripping the handle, he grunted an Orcish sound in a farewell and left the stand. His once polished shoes clicking faintly against the stone road under the city sounds, bringing him back to Bogsgate.

I loved walking along the paved streets at night, listening to the sound my shoes made in the still air... I used to have so much. Now, look at me. Reduced to a common prisoner under the great Commander Jale Vadren... He gave a soft sigh, reaching Krun'Gun's house.

Guess I can say I accomplished something, right dad? Only reason I should do a man's every bidding... Darael frowned at the door, no longer wanting to return. Surely you're not like that. You have rules to follow, laws to enforce... Plus, Wikeds pull at my mind, why would you want me around if not to turn me in?

Standing outside for a few minutes made him think harder on the subject of his life and how close it was to being over. I don't want to die... And I certainly don't want to face the elven fate destined for me. Why are you so hellbent on taking me to the King?

The warlock took a deep breath and finally pushed open the door standing in his way. Entering the house he looked around for his friends and traveling companions. Of course, only Jale sat on the couch, with the others nowhere to be seen.

"What did you get?" The commander asked him.

Darael walked over, setting the basket down on the floor. "Cave moss and mule milk, great ingredients for sweets."

A wave of doubt crossed Jale's face. "Moss? In a dessert?"

"Have a little trust, I know a lot of Orcish recipes and culture."

The taller man leaned forward to inspect the jars. "If you say so."

Darael own eyes lit up with mischief as he sat on the table. "I do."

He spent the moment of quiet to observe his company. Skin that had been untouched by the sun's glare, a body full of physical strength, and a face holding deep blue pools of knowledge. No telling what was on his mind today. As his gaze shifted around, it settled on the commander's hair. Perhaps I'm going crazy already... Wasn't his hair darker?

"So, how does a man of..." Jale drummed his fingers against his leg in a moment of thought, "Your life, know an orc?"

The warlock gathered his hair over his shoulder, gently working his fingers through it. "It's a long story, nothing entertaining for a man like you."

His companion huffed, tilting his head. "You mistake my title with the barbaric higher-ups. I'm not a fan of violence or things like that."

Doubtful, a commander is a higher-up. Darael tilted his head. "If you insist."

He folded his right leg over the left, leaning back to prop himself on his hands. "Well, first you have to understand most people in school and on the bad streets aren't like us. No good house, no real food, barely any support," a soft sigh left his lips, "Imagine, being in a city guarded by the best military and a solid wall, only to live in despair."

The way the commander dropped his head shamefully told Darael more than enough.

"Krun'gun had come to your grand city hoping for refuge. The war had torn rai family apart and left without a house or job." He continued, focusing on the other's body language. "Despite how bad the humans left Krun, our city still promised protection. Rah came all the way south only to find the protective wall blocking the path."

"After the war, we couldn't just let any orc in. Surely you understand that?" Jale asked, but gone was his commanding tone.

Darael scoffed through his teeth. "That's fine, I understand the hostility. But when this scared orc begged to be saved, begged on their life for entrance. What did your men do?"

With a grimace, the tall man sighed. "Imprisoned them."

"Every. Single. One." The warlock turned his head away, sitting up. "Yes, I broke into your dungeons, yes I manipulated your men, yes I broke laws. But I've never regretted anything I've done, I'd go back and free them again."

Silence spread, Jale unable to offer any more words. Good, you can't hear when you're busy arguing. If I'm going to die above death, might as well push my limits.

After a few minutes, the commander ran his fingers through his hair and shifted his weight. "I never cared that you freed them. I cared I had to do it in the first place."

"Well, you don't get to the top being nice to everyone."

With an agreeing hum, Jale looked back over at him. "Then what happened?"

Darael glanced at his companion momentarily. "I let Krun court me. Until I slipped away from morals and found myself convincing rah to break the law with me. Rightfully, once rah found out, we distanced ourselves... then I show up 7 years later asking for help."

"Well, h—," a moment of hesitation, "rah let you in and helped. Surely they understand." The tall man suggested.

The suggestion hit the ginger like a brick, threatening to topple his wall. With any luck, he could remain composed as he talked about this.

"I just wish I had better offers to bring." Catching a soft smile forming on Jale's lips, he added, "What?"

The other shook his head and gestured forward towards him. "As much as a pain you are on the road, I'm sure under your snarky facade you bring a lot to a relationship."

He called it a facade and not personality, why? What could he possibly be seeing to think my behavior is fabricated? Darael gently braided the end of his hair, nerves and swirling thoughts demanding more attention than he'd like.

Jale broke his wandering thoughts with a sound. Curious and soft.

This time, the warlock didn't verbally ask what he wanted, instead, he just met his gaze and waited.

"If you put in the same amount of time into meditation and mental health as you did breaking rules. Imagine where you could be."

Darael couldn't t help but laugh at that. "My dad was so disappointed to learn I was a criminal. He wanted me to be in the military so bad. If I hadn't broken a few laws he would've gotten his way."

His company nodded quietly, folding his arms to settle into the couch comfortably. No more words being said.

The silence was nice now, no more pressing questions or judging looks. Just thoughts and wonder. I wonder what he thinks about me now? Doesn't matter in the long run, but it would be nice to not have to worry about the end... Ah, a commander couldn't stop the wishes of the king anyways. Or break the rules in any manner to help me.

Darael sighed and stood from the table, might as well get to cooking something to take his mind off everything. He took the basket over to the stone table, removing the jars to set them aside. I miss Orcish pudding, but their pies are super good. Hmm... opening a few small boxes, he found Krun'Gun's supplies and used them to influence his decision. Pie it was.

Preparing the crust had been a favorite thing to do for the ginger, even going so far as to not use a single spell to flatten, line, or cut the crust into shape. Having fun while he used his hands, he forgot all about the commander in the background.

He found himself starting to hum to himself while making the dessert, just a soft tune he recalled from an inn. A surprisingly subtle and elegant song, a tale about a waterfall conquering a cliff.

Before long, Darael had a pie filled with snow squash and dried raspberries sitting in the oven. Taking the cooking time to clean his mess and look for mugs and plates.

"Oh Divines, you're letting him cook?" Krun'gun question with over-emphasized disappointment.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The warlock spun around and pointed a rag at the orc. "You're the one that taught me to cook. If it sucks, that's solely on you."

An amused hum sounded from the couch, where Jale had stayed. The commander now had a soft smile on his lips and seemed quite entertained.

Krun'gun chuckled and opened his nose to sniff the air. "Now where did you get milk?"

"The marketplace, I also got some moss." The warlock answered, giving the commander a soft head shake and confused look.

"And where did you get the money for these?"

Darael scratched his jaw absent-mindedly. "I have my ways. But, if you must know, I borrowed some of yours."

His friend grunted in disapproval and stepped up to the door. "I have some things I need to craft, you better get me when that's done"

"Of course," he muttered, glancing up at the orc momentarily.

Jale hummed a second time once the orc was gone. "Why don’t you act this way on the road?"

The pale man looked over at his darker companion. Unsure how to really answer for his different personalities, he shrugged. "Maybe cause traveling to my above death causes me to not be as relaxed as I am here with an old friend?"

The tall man averted his gaze. "Yeah, that's fair."

Darael sighed and slung loose strands over his shoulder. "Why do you act so high and mighty?"

"Comes from the job I suppose, I can't let the criminals, or even my men, see me forgot authority." Jale brought his eyes back to the warlock. "How come you haven't run yet?"

A snort rang out from the ginger. "And go where? Home? Wanted for murder and treason, remember?"

His superior didn't respond, which helped him relax a bit. Good, he's finally starting to understand I have nowhere to go. Maybe now he'll calm down with how much of a chokehold he gives me.

"At least, when we stop by the real elves... Well, Roon has told me they could help me. Even if it ends up being pointless, they could soothe my Wikeds," Darael said, aware of how little the commander probably cared.

As a surprising twist, Jale nodded gently. "They definitely could. They could also kill us in our tracks just because we're human." He sighed heavily. "We haven't been kind to any of the natives... Orcs, trolls, elves, yahmas. Only zerdals are given any respect."

Looking over, the warlock traced his green gaze over the other's physical expressions. Weary eyes and a subtle frown met his search.

"But, are you not half-elf?" he asked softly.

"Sure, but even elves have tight laws about reproducing with humans. My mother couldn't even return to her life after having me. I think I killed her too."

This had already been known by Darael, but hearing this strong commanding man slowly break down while explaining what his birth caused. That hit differently.

He brought himself over to the living area and sat promptly on the table once more. "You know, your parents must've really loved you. To take one look at you and decided you were worth losing everything for... Not everyone can say they had the same."

Jale looked up at him, his blue eyes welling up a little. "They shouldn't have done that, they should've kept themselves alive. I haven't done much that would've made them proud."

The warlock scoffed. "You're one of the highest-ranked, best praised, and most successful commander Bogsgate has ever had—and you think they'd be disappointed?" He pointed a finger at himself. "I was literally destined to bring pride to my family and I screwed that up. You should be happy with what you've done."

"And what have I done? Slaughtered innocent folk, imprisoned them, and sent more than enough people to be torn apart by the king's elves," his company said in a low defeated tone, "I never asked to be in this position. I just wanted a quaint farm to raise livestock."

Well, well, it would appear you've misjudged him just as much as he misjudged you. Good going Darael. With a sigh, he decided to try and bring the mood back up a bit.

"Trade swine for swine, huh?"

Jale huffed a soft chuckle. "Absolutely. I think James would make a fair Commander, which would force me off the title obviously... But, I'm okay with that."

Darael smiled at him. "Perhaps when you return home, you can get the life you want."

Glancing over with an odd look, the commander nodded and hummed a light agreement.

A full day had passed since the humans' breakthrough in understanding each other, and while none of their companions had been there during the conversation. They seemed to know something positive had happened. Roon especially had become overjoyed at their growing friendship. And even Jale appeared to enjoy being able to relax for once.

It's odd to think; the most successful people tend to be the most stressed. Why would anyone strive to succeed if they're just going to end up unhappy anyway? Darael had found himself wondering. Unhappy or dead, of course. Plenty of knights, hunters, and soldiers enjoy what they succeed in.

Krun'gun had brought the warlock to the healer orc Bor'ma earlier in the day, and he had remained there all day.

"You have to try," a white orc said, holding up a branch.

With a groan, Darael tossed his hands in defeat. "I can't do it—it hurts!"

A sharp sting bit his knuckle, the orc hitting him with the branch.

"Ow! You're supposed to be healing, not hurting," the ginger grumbled, rubbing his hand.

"Physical pain is easy. Remove the source, treat the wound, manage pain. Mental pain isn't so easy. Since you are in charge of the source, you must learn to treat the wound yourself," Bor'ma said, sitting in front of the man. "Let's try again from the beginning; What bothers you?"

Darael respected rah, of course, but right now they were getting on his nerves. Resisting every urge and whisper to harm them or their house, he shrugged lightly.

"If my last answer wasn't good enough, why would it be now?"

The orc leaned forward a bit, nose flaring to smell the air. "Because you're going to give a different answer."

With an agitated whine, the warlock pushed his palms into his eyes. "I already told you, I'm about to have my brain mangled by elves, what else would bother me?"

"You want my honest thoughts?" When the man nodded, rah continued, "You've come to stay with an old courting partner, feelings remain between you two. But, a new partner may feel jealous or left out, so how do you give both of them attention without starting unnecessary drama?"

Darael felt himself fill with the prickles of unease and embarrassment. "No, you're wrong. There is no new partner."

The orc moved their head back, giving an "ah" before crossing thick arms. "Is that what bothers you?"

He knew exactly what rah meant, and unfortunately, they were right. That's not lawful though, there's no way he'd even accept it, that's suggesting he even feels the same... A long drawn-out sigh left his lips.

"I suggest telling this, “non-partner” what you wish of. It will relieve some weight off your already overwhelmed psychic." Bor'ma reached over and patted the man on the leg. "Worst case he sentences you to death, right?"

The warlock shook his head lightly. "I guess... Maybe I'll say something when we get to the native elves. I'd hate to make the travel awkward for the other two as well." He paused and scratched his ear. "That, and right now we're at a good peace."

His company gave an approving nod. "This works. Until then, I suggest practicing light physical or enhancemental spells daily. You need both an outlet and better control."

"I can control my maegik."

The orc laughed softly. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I mean control over your fears."

Darael didn't respond for he knew that was true. I've always been scared of hurting people, but it's my first urge when upset. Why am I like this? Why couldn't I have been born normal? It's not fair... Darcy got to be normal.

Drawing a large swell of air into his lungs, the warlock stood from his kneeling position and grunted an appreciative Orcish farewell. As he stepped out of the small brick building, he noticed a cloth flag hanging nearby. It was small, black, and smelled of wet fur.

Huh, I guess the cat festival is today... I wonder if Jale would enjoy it, I know Roon would—seeing as he wants to learn Orcish culture. Guess I can ask them. He huffed a determined hum and marched himself down the red road.

It didn't take the pale man long to return to his current residence, using the time to wonder about the commander and what he had been told the day before. When he entered the small house, his orc friend had greeted him.

"Where’re the others?" Darael asked.

Krun'gun swung his head back a bit. "In the back, Roon is showing Jale how to care for his bowstring."

The warlock nodded softly. "Thanks, I'm going to take them to the festival, might be good to have fun and enjoy our hosts' culture."

"I'll be there if you do go, my partner has a pair of windsailers," his friend said happily.

"Fancy! I'll be there for sure!"

Walking back towards the bedroom he and Jale shared, he found himself hoping they'd want to join him.

Roon looked up from the weapon, wagging his tail gently. "Hello! How did it go?"

"It was alright, rah said I'm fine though." Darael leaned against the doorway. "Want to come experience one of the biggest Orcish festivals this side of the sea?"

The zerdal perked his ears up and gave a faster tail movement at the offer. "Absolutely!"

Turning his gaze to the commander, who sat across from Roon, the ginger tilted his head. "What about you, Commander? Think you can loosen up for some fun?"

"I mean, someone has to keep an eye on you," Jale said, though it had been playful.

"It's not a festival of metals is it?" Tesk asked.

The troll's words startled Darael a bit, he hadn't even seen her over on the other bed. All relaxed up against the wall, she blended right into the dark red stones used to build the room.

"Of course not, orcs don't just work! They know how to have fun too." The warlock chuckled and pushed away from the wall. "Come on then, I want to meet Krun'Gun's Renitrekas."

Roon's eyes lit up with pure joy as he sprang off the bed. "I'm not familiar with that word, what does it mean?"

With a wink, Darael backed up. "You'll have to wait and see."

Even Jale seemed intrigued now, and the ginger felt proud of himself for being able to convince them all—without the aid of maegik. He beckoned them on and led his company outside.

"Is it... A market festival? Set to sell or trade work after a long good harvest?" Roon asked as they walked along the streets.

"No, I said it wasn't work-related." Darael giggled lightly at the zerdal's zeal, before holding up a hand. "Well, I suppose a lot of work goes into this, but it's a huge part of Orcish culture."

Jale pipped up, "Is it animal-centered?"

The warlock glanced behind him to look at the commander. "That was an incredibly lucky guess. Too lucky, how'd you know?"

The tall man laughed, pointing to one of the black markers. "Orcs are blind, they can't use flyers like the rest of us. I assume these scent flags that weren't here yesterday are related to the festival?"

Humph, I forgot elves have incredible senses... He nodded, a bit in defeat. "It is yes."

"Is it... sport or animal fighting?" Tesk asked, sounding uneasy.

"Great Divines, no! Orcs are not barbaric!" Darael sighed. "And, if it was, I wouldn't have offered to take you, Tesk."

The troll relaxed at the reassurance, which relieved the warlock. Much better to enjoy something when it's completely naturally interesting.

With his group in tow, the ginger strolled up to the large open field on the outskirts of town. A sturdy stone fence walled off a circle in the center of the meadow, huge and ready for fun. Surrounding the fence; lots of seats and food stands, plenty of orcs, and noise.

Oh, I do hope this doesn't freak Jale out... Hopefully, he'll be having too much to let that happen. Darael fussed silently before pushing through the crowd, checking behind him to ensure his party followed.

When they reached the contained field, he propped himself against the fence and turned to his companions. "Remember, huge part of orc culture."

Roon chittered something in his tongue, which Jale laughed at. Which bothered him, until the commander pushed one of the wooden chairs closer for the zerdal to stand on.

"Orcs don't build fences with short zerdals in mind." Tesk laughed, sitting next to the zerdal.

Some Trollish sentences were said, which encouraged Darael to looked at the commander. Got to make sure he's doing okay and doesn't want to go back.

Luckily, he seemed fairly fine, a bit overwhelmed at all the orcs, which was evident in the way he kept looking all around them. And honestly, the warlock couldn't blame him.

"Hey, it'll be okay. Orcs really like showing off their skills to others, this is extremely important for them, but also super fun."

"What is though?" Jale asked.

The warlock pointed over towards a pair of orcs entering the ring. Each of them had a large black animal walking beside them; both sleek and elegant felines. Long and rather tall cougars, with a single uniquely different set of glowing white spots on their ears.

He leaned fully on the fence, admiring the beasts as they made their way to the center.

"Are those renitrekas?" Roon asked in awe.

"No, those are forest pumas or garnums." The warlock explained, pointing to the pair of orcs. "The handlers are going to show off what their cats can do, very showmanshipy."

The bigger orc stepped up to the center, standing on a small rock. As he spoke in Orcish, Darael momentarily forgot that the others' had no idea what was being said.

A bit sheepishly, he cleared his throat and worked on translating for his group. "Torlas—their version of ladies or gentlemen—I'm pleased to announce the start of our hobby show: Bher'un Dro'a!"

The warlock gave a soft smile towards Roon, adding, "The festival of pumas and fire."

The orc didn't use much body language, much like Krun'gun, but he threw his arms to the sides and bowed. Throwing out his last sentence in Common. "To our rare, but appreciated, non-orc viewers: Enjoy our display!"

Jale glanced over at Darael, before hesitantly leaning against the wall. Propping up on the solid stone seemed to feel good as if relieving weight from his spine in some manner.

Odd, I would never have even guessed he was hurting... He should get himself a seat if he does. The warlock turned his attention back to the show, eagerly awaiting his friend's turn.

The two orcs and their black pumas set the stage for the first show, with the cats using their maegik gift to lift and move boxes without touching anything. Sparking ripples of praises and conversation from the crowd.

While very impressive, the first few acts only consisted of a single forest puma pushing various objects through the air. A few boxes and tools, as well as a balancing cup on a plate. Surely the grand festival could wow his friends as it had wowed him.

Just as he was giving up on the idea that he made a good choice, Darael spotted Krun'gun and a second orc entering the ring. He grinned lightly when he saw absolutely nothing next to them.

"Oh! They must have saved the best for last, showmanship after all." The warlock commented, perking up a bit.

Tesk laughed softly. "They better be like our marsh cats, or I'd worry for your sanity."

"Festival of cats and fire. What have we not seen yet?" Darael asked, leaning further on the fence.

Krun'gun took a position in the middle of the ring, waving a large arm in a sideways arc. A second arm movement in the opposite way caused a shape to appear in front of them. This shape pale and ghostly, the figure of a large cougar sitting.

The second orc grunted and spun their fingers in a tight circle, catching sparks to form a ball of fire. With a focused toss, the fireball was launched towards Krun'gun.

With a soft chuff, the ghostly puma lunged and caught the flaming orb in its paws before it hit the orc. Containing it, the cat smothered the hungry fire and turned to face the crowd.

"That... Is a renitreka. Windsailer, a rare breed of mountain cats named for their apparent wind riding abilities," the warlock said in awe.

Roon gaped and chittered in excitement. "Does it use illusionary spells?"

Shaking his head, Darael pointed towards the faded cat. "They're actually elemental users, but they have full control of whether or not you can see them."

The zerdal gave a soft hum and peered in at the beast. "I thought you said they had more than one?"

While the ginger knew what that meant, he decided to shrug. This is best experienced without warning, and knowing Krun, he'll do it to us.

His orc friend grunted a command, doing a similar finger circle to build a fireball. Once formed, rah forced the fire straight up into the air. Their puma crouched low before springing high, sailing clear over the tall orc's head with feet of room. Landing with the flame dying in its mouth, the cat growled and circled Krun'gun.

The second orc spoke an Orchish word, then a second. Bold commands for the beasts. As the handlers gathered in the center, their ghostly cat crouched low and waited.

Krun'gun flared his nostrils and smiled, then waved a hand dismissively towards Darael.