Bird songs echoed around like a hauntingly synchronized orchestra above them, calling out in love or fear. Dawn had brought energy to the whole wilderness—which included the group of travelers. The small cart moved across a hardened dirt path, through a forest of relatively flat land.
Even with summer in full swing, the woods had a chill in the air. The closer and closer they got to the mountains and tundra, the colder the breeze got.
Since their day relaxing by the river a week ago, Jale hadn't put all his armor back on. Only the wristguards and thick boots had been worn since. He'd say it's because the breastplate needed repairs, but honestly, he just didn't like the heavy—constricting—weight anymore.
The two humans were relaxing in the bed of the wagon, which had become the norm for them, and as they rolled towards the great city Gorh'un they chatted away about anything that crossed their minds. Currently, that was home.
"A commander like you must have a lavish place, what's your house like? There a missus to return to?" Darael had asked, casual and easy.
Jale chuckled, humming thoughtfully for a moment. "There's no one waiting for me at home, I live alone. But uh, it's nothing too grand, I never was one for large homes. A simple house on the wall barely has two bedrooms."
Roon chittered before glancing back at him. "You live on a wall?"
The warlock answered for the commander. "That's what we call the streets that line the inner side of the wall. A shitty part of town, full of crazy people."
"Surprised I never see you around." The tall man flashed a playful grin.
"Oh, ha-ha." His companion rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No wonder nobody wants you."
Jale sighed a soft breath. "You'd be surprised how many wealthy men throw their daughters at me. Even Mariette asked for my hand."
The troll beat the others to it. "Princess Mariette?"
The commander nodded. "Yep... But enough about me, how is your home Darael?"
With a small shrug, the warlock remained silent for an unusual amount of time. When he did speak, his voice had been heavier than normal.
"It was okay, a bit small. Shared a dorm room with a guy in school... Probably a good thing I'll never go back huh? Accidentally burnt my own house down, and with my dad... Yeah, I'd rather the elves."
An uneasy pause hit their conversation, the idea of never returning home clearly bothered the man. But, he also seemed to have come to terms with it.
"May I ask what happened that day?" Roon questioned, his voice gentle.
Darael sighed a deep sound. "It was just overall a bad day... Woke up late, late to class, late to lunch, late to my own therapy. Night came and I couldn't sleep, happens from time to time, so I went to my professor— the only person who understood. I never got to even ask for help, never even got to say goodbye."
Another sigh swelled in the ginger's chest and when he continued he sounded angry almost. "I don't know why they'd do this to me, but he was just... Gone, slouched over his desk, didn't get to go home to his family that night. Didn't even get to finish the book he was reading."
The zerdal tipped his head down. "I see."
But, the warlock wasn't done. "Something had just taken his life away like it didn't matter. Divines, Guides, Wikeds... Whatever it was, he didn't deserve it. It—it should've been me instead."
Jale didn't know how to respond, to think he would've taken this man without a doubt to the King for punishment. Yet he may not even have done it? What kind of system does he follow?
"So, these... Emotional outbursts, do they happen often? A mood change followed, or a result of, a burst of maegik?" Tesk asked.
Just as Jale feared, the man nodded. A verbal agreement was also given, but he was already lost in thoughts. I could ruin some poor struggling man's life... Divines... Do you want him to live, and live well? He'd ask the beings even though they couldn't respond.
It would never be fair, how the wiked preyed on the people who already suffered. Tempting you down the worst path until they pull you into an inescapable position that ultimately leads to death. Or worse. Once a human's mind breaks completely, they fall into a state of insanity that drives them to unthinkable actions.
"...It's weird, sometimes I can feel a cold grip around my shoulders when I get angry or upset. Just odd, but nothing like that, no." Darael had been in the process of answering someone.
Jale found himself turning his head to look at the warlock, the mention of cold grips brought his attention back to him.
Tesk nodded. "I see. Well, it's a good thing the smoke is rising in the distance. Perhaps someone here can aid your struggle."
The ginger returned a strange questioning look at the commander, before sitting up to peer over the front.
With the promise of a city, Jale sat up too, and sure enough—there had been a pillar of smoke. "Gorh'un, the grand city of metal and fire. I hope they're accepting of us barging in."
"They're orcs... Not humans. Why wouldn't they?" Roon asked over his shoulder.
"Um... Well, we have been threatening their city for a while."
Darael huffed lightly. "As a member of the military he has to be serious and they probably won't like a commander waltzing in like he owns the place."
The commander dipped his head, knowing that was both fair and true. "No, they wouldn't like it."
The tall man would just have to not be a commanding leader here, shouldn't be all that hard; they have laws and people to respect. Perhaps they wouldn't stay here very long, that would be nice. But, knowing politics, he would have to.
I have to convince a leader so proud of his might that humans aren't worth the energy to fight. And also keep Darael out of trouble... ugh. He didn't like the idea of having to watch the criminal while trying to plead to the monarch not to launch a war.
If anything, the orcs would just melt him and Darael away and end both of their suffering from one wrong word or movement. No, that wouldn't be good, that thought bothered him.
His distaste must have been visible because the troll clicked her teeth against her tusks. "What bothers you now?"
"Nothing, I'm just thinking is all. Gorh'un isn't a familiar place."
"The Market was a new place for all of us, why did you not hate that place?" Roon questioned.
Jale hummed in thought, resting his body back down on the wooden bed. "Well, because I know Rardor, the whole city may have been unfamiliar, but I had a friend there."
That's when Darael chimed in with unexpected news. "I have a friend here, I'm sure they'd let us stay with them."
Curious, Jale asked, “How do you know an orc?”
"How do you know a zerdal?"
Both Roon and Tesk laughed, amused by the ways the humans bothered each other.
But, Jale wasn't having it this time. "No no, see. A zerdal is a traveler, it would be more concerning if we didn't know one. But an orc? No, that needs explaining, we haven't had a registered orc in Bogsgate for almost sixteen years."
With a clump of red hair being whisked back behind his back, the ginger met his gaze. "Because, Commander, they aren't dangerous freaks, and plenty live right under your nose. Choosing potential death over staying out, because believe it or not—some people like the protection our town offers."
Lips quivered as the tall man prepared a comeback, but it never came. He didn't have anything. The man beside him had been visibly crumbling and he had pushed anyways. What brought Jale to do this time and time again?
After a few heated moments, the commander rolled over. Out of sight, out of mind. Not true, however, since his mind remained locked on the warlock.
He could be lying, there's no way so many orcs could be living there. We're one of the biggest military towns in the world, but... I suppose they are talented in maegik that could help them squeeze past us... But, we should still know they're there. His thoughts slid away from him once more, leaving him unfocused from the world.
A jolt told him their cart had met paved ground; smooth but loud. Though he didn't get up to investigate right away, wasn't sure he wanted to. Orcs have a very unique glare that can pierce through anyone's mental armor.
Plus, the last time he saw an orc was during the war when he had to strike the Monarch's child down. These folk would definitely remember him, perhaps he could pretend he had been brought here against his will.
"So, Darael, where does your friend live?" Roon questioned, inspecting his surroundings while carefully maneuvering the cart along the paths.
The tall man heard the warlock sit up, a subtle sniff alerting him to the man's true state.
"Um... Oh! Over there, by the forge with the green jewels in the walls." Darael's response had been noticeably happier, a bit higher, and quicker.
Curious, Jale sat up as well, peering over the driver to see. A city of red. Smooth chunks of crimson stones paved the way, each crack filled with a pale green substance; mortar. Short but wide buildings lined the road in neat uniform lines, all made from the same design of deep scarlet bricks framed by dark brown wooden logs. Some of the buildings had a chimney on the flat roof, others did not. A few had blue gems decorating the outer wall in patterns unrecognizable to him, others had green.
Just on this one street, he could see a total of three forges. One was open and had a few orcs tending to it, the other two were sheltered porches on houses.
Most of the orcs were off away from the wagon, way more wary of strangers than the friendly zerdals. Offering only a nose flare and head tilt towards the band of travelers.
Roon pulled the wagon up to a house with the forge and green gems. The ginger couldn't wait for the cart to fully stop, launching over the side to rush to the door.
While Darael knocked, Jale gathered his bow, throwing it onto his back before climbing out. He didn't like the idea of staying here long, as grand as it may be. Gorh'un was the largest city on this continent, barely beating Selude—and they only got that through slaughtering many humans and burning cities.
The nearly pink light red door opened to reveal a large burly shape. Their shoulders were twice that of his own, probably six feet across and the creature’s sides seemed level with their barrel of a chest. Powerful legs bulked under the cloth kilt they wore, which was all they had on.
A smooth face where eyes should've been tilted down to "gaze" at Darael. Four large slits flared open wide, a deep breath filling the already large chest. As they let the air out a large pleased smile spread across thin lips.
"Darael!" The orc's deep, hoarse voice boomed, arms tossing to the side.
The, now apparently small, warlock grinned up at his friend. "Krun'gun!" Without a single hesitation, the human leaped up onto the orc, his arms wrapping around the other's deep chest. The orc returned the gesture, but its head remained facing Jale.
Unexplainable sounds came from Krun'Gun and somehow the warlock returned similar sounds. Orcish no doubt.
"I see. Any friend of Darael is a friend of mine. Lorr'un durr'un."
Roon had crept over at the sound of a new language. "Ooh! Hello! Can I know what that means?"
Krun'gun chuckled a low laugh. "Of course little zerdal. “My home is yours”, a greeting to a friend or friends of a friend."
Jale found himself straightening up at the orc's unnatural gaze, unsure if he wanted to submit to the creature or not. The grey and textured face sent waves of unease through him, pushing him to try and contest the power. Until Krun'gun grunted.
"I see your company has worsened. Next, you'll bring me a soulless wiked."
Darael hummed a soft sound but didn't speak. He did, however, fall from the orc’s grip and push into the house.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Tesk heaved two of their bags on her shoulders, stepping up to the doorway. "So, do you often take in travelers?"
"Hmm, depends. I always repay my friends, sometimes that means harboring questionable folk." Krun'gun gave a heavy step out of the way to let the troll enter.
Little Roon, who was absolutely towered over by the orc, bounded after her. His own hands carried a bag while his body showed he expressed excitement in the only way a zerdal can—lots of tail wags.
Jale let them enter first since he didn't have any supplies, but when it was his turn to step in the orc blocked him.
"And, questionable folk have to follow very specific rules. Understand, Commander Vadren?" Deep unmistakable threats reverberated from Krun'Gun's huge chest.
Scrunching the side of his face in dismay, the commander nodded. "Fine, I'd hate for a certain someone to catch wind of me."
The orc bellowed a large laugh. "The Monarch already knows you're here... Nobody could mistake a certain tall, sure-footed, well-armed, tense... male." The word male had been forced out and sounded very foreign from the orc.
Fucking Wikeds... A curse filled his brain, but he only gave a curt nod and followed the large creature inside.
The interior had been very spacious; sanded redwood planks filled the floor, with a pair of cushioned benches standing against the far wall. Large furry rugs covered the area in front of the couches, their grey hues a welcome sight amongst the red. Along the stone wall hung furs, hides, fabrics, wood, and a bunch of other miscellaneous materials used for insulation.
"Oh, it's so quaint! I like the living space Krun'gun," Roon complimented, walking over to admire the fur rugs.
The orc laughed. "Thank you little zerdal, I had no idea I would have company, or I would have cleaned or straightened things up."
Darael hummed and sat on one of the couches. "Well, I had no idea I would ever come visit you... Let alone when I'm sentenced to the elves."
With that unnerving statement about how the warlock knew he'd never have been able to see his friend again, Jale sighed. He never wanted to take the pale man to the kingdom for such a terrible punishment. But, laws require it. And he has to enforce the laws.
"I'm afraid I only have one spare place for people to sleep. Two of you may be able to fit in the room, but a few of you will have to find the inn," Krun'gun said as they joined Darael on the couch, relaxing into the cushions.
Tesk clicked her tusks quietly, thinking. "Me and Roon could find the inn since Darael is your friend and Jale shouldn't be unattended in the city."
With a silly smirk, Roon wagged his tail. "Right, I agree. There's no telling what trouble he could get into here."
The commander tipped his head down a touch, cocking his hips and resting his hands on them. "I'm not the one you should be worried about, I can respect authority."
Darael rolled his eyes, scoffing. But, whatever he said had been uttered in the guttural Orcish. It did cause the orc to laugh though.
"Have you eaten yet? We can eat and then you can settle and figure out what you wish to do for everyone." Krun'gun grunted, waving a hand towards a small furnace and stone table.
On the table sat a pot with thick food. Though the house smelled sweet, the mash looked yellow and perhaps a mixture of many foods.
Tesk nodded, stepping over to investigate the meal. "We appreciate the offer, nothing like a home-cooked meal after a solid month on the road."
The zerdal immediately offered a pout. "Excuse me, my home is the road, therefore my meals are always homecooked!"
"The pot has potatoes mashed in it, there's some goat in the furnace that's cooked. Try not to ruin the carcass, the better you leave it, the better I can preserve it," Krun'gun said.
Intrigued as a fan of foods, Jale found his way to the small kitchen corner. Joining the troll with inspecting the potatoes, he hummed in approval.
"Mountain potatoes?" he asked, gathering a bowl.
The orc grunted. "Yep."
The commander stirred the pot a moment then scooped the mashed starchy plant into the container. Setting it aside, he peeked into the oven. Grand scents of spicy, heat-infused meat hit his face. Lovely smells tickled his nostrils as he took the hide glove to remove the metal rod the food clung to.
Once in the open air, the goat produced only stronger enticing scents to the air. He could identify peppers, herbs—even salt with just a quick analysis and he couldn't wait to try it. That being true, he wasn't going to feed himself first.
Taking a knife from the table, Jale slid the steel through the meat in clean, thoughtful chunks. Tesk helped by filling the bowls with a cushion of mashed potatoes for him, and it didn't take long for everyone to have a portion.
The tall man swept the goat back into the furnace, picking up his bowl and joining the group by the couches. He planted himself on the rug next to Roon, not minding settling on the floor. Delight filled his senses as he bit into the meat; a tinge of spice bit his tongue, while the blend of herbs soothed and complimented the heat. Savory juices flooded his mouth, his teeth cutting through the tender piece as if it was cream. Just heavenly.
"Orc spice is nothing short of perfect," Darael said, his body relaxing in the presence of food.
Tesk and Roon gave an agreeing nod and sound, both too focusing on eating to answer.
"Pair it with the naturally soft and distinctly gamey flavor of the goat..." Jale added, pausing to take a generous bite. "Divine praised."
Krun'gun rubbed his hairless head with a big thick hand. "I grew up on this meal, one of the only I can cook without overcooking something."
The warlock reached a hand out to pat the orc's shoulder. "Better over than under, remember when you tried to cook the chicken?"
"Oh, Ra'gur. Don't remind me, even those hounds didn't deserve such food."
Jale let the two chat, listening in on how much they seemingly enjoy their memories. I've been too hard on him, yet I can't seem to shape myself up to be better. But, at the same time... Multiple accounts of theft, manipulation, threatening, and then that arson... Ugh, I hope we get to reach Selude soon...
He could hope, though the realization of how much the constant travel had been affecting them made him less interested in leaving. Months on the road, many different moon cycles, almost every environment. No wonder zerdals are welcomed everywhere—traveling sucks.
Tesk stood from the couch's cushion. "Real fresh meat has been a good change of pace. I enjoy traveling and eating on the road using scavenged ingredients, but sometimes I miss sitting down in a house to relax."
Darael took in a deep breath before nodding. "At least traveling forces you to open your palate to new flavors."
"We aren't known for our food, but our metal skills." Krun'gun waved a heavy hand towards the kitchen. "This is a pretty standard meal around here."
Setting his bowl aside, the commander ate his last heavenly piece of goat. "Much better than what I'm used to, I miss meals a lot with my tough work schedules."
"I'm sure you have a grand palace with people to cook for you. You're nearly royalty where you're from," the orc said.
"No. He lives on the wall apparently." Darael asserted with a slow gaze traveling over to Jale.
Krun'gun laughed with a force that shook their body, body language showing doubt where missing eyes couldn't.
Overwhelming threatening pressure filled Jale, encasing him in an urge to protect himself. From what, he couldn't say. All he knew was the criminal already worked him up, and now the orc was there to add stress.
With his arms wrapping his chest, he scoffed a soft irritation. "I chose that though, I prefer the simple small houses."
Roon stood up from the floor, gathering the empty dishes. "I agree with Jale, simple houses have a big charm to them. Once you find a reason to be put, why would you want a bunch of useless clutter?"
"I think if you have the wealth and ability, why not show off?" The warlock countered, crossing his legs.
"Because..." Jale locked his eyes onto the smaller human. "What does that do besides make you look like an insufferable asshole?"
Stiff tension swelled between the humans as if any one movement could invite another fight. His blue eyes shot warnings while the criminal's green gaze taunted him. Nobody moved, not a word was uttered. The two men sat there glaring at one another, both awaiting a chance to claim a small and irrelevant victory in one way or another.
Like a siren at sea, a soothingly melodious voice tore through the tension. "I believe we should get some rest, it's been a long day. Long month. It may help you two chill as well."
Jale felt like a little kid when the troll talked to him like that. But, it did work and he gave in with a reluctant nod.
Tearing his eyes away from Darael, he looked up at Tesk. "Yes, Ma'am."
Krun'gun raised his heavy body from the couch. "I'll show you two the spare room."
Amusement hummed from Roon. "Are you sure leaving them together unsupervised all night is a good idea?"
Darael grumbled in Orcish, remaining on the couch.
"Darael says he'll stay in here tonight. Don't even have to worry about a fight then," the orc translated, tossing his head to gesture for Jale to follow.
As the commander stood from the floor, he heard the zerdal mutter to Tesk. Haunting Zerdalian words that pierced his thoughts. "A fight from jealousy maybe." Those words would haunt him all night.
----------------------------------------
"So, I've been told you're missing a blade?" Krun'gun asked, adding a log to a baby flame.
Jale nodded, watching the orc tend to the impressive black stone forge, feeding it through a large hole. "A shortsword."
His companion laughed. "You don't seem like a sword person to me, you move too... Careful."
"It was a gift when I took my title. One of the only weapons I've known for my entire career."
Krun'gun lifted a cauldron to hang it above the forge's open hole, then turned to face the commander. "Yet you traded it without much prompt for a bow." They slapped Jale's chest. "That tells me you didn't like it very much."
The tall man had moved back a step at the orc's hand, scowling a bit before reaching to grab the bow off his back. "It's elven... I was drawn to it. I tried to think it over, but Darael convinced me."
"Odd, he told me you convinced him that you needed it."
Jale felt his eyes roll in their sockets. "Typical."
Deep chuckles reverberated from Krun'Gun as they shook their head. "Sounds to me, you two should step into a ring and get all your unnecessary aggression out. I'd love to observe you fighting."
"He's a warlock, he'd tear me apart in a heartbeat." His scowl deepened. "I'm sending him to the King, without me he could slip away and nobody would care."
Nostrils flaring, the orc tilted their head. "So why do you care so much?"
Krun'Gun's question reached over and punched Jale square in his nose. Taken aback, he had no idea how to answer this. I'm a commander, it's my job. I could get fired, my aunt would suffer I'm sure... My whole life would be ruined if he got away. But, I could say he died, nobody would even check. No, that would be a lie.
Finally, a sigh left his lips. "I don't have a choice. My job supports my parent, she needs the money to get medicine. If I fail now that so—so many months have passed, they'd strip everything from me."
"Ambushed by trolls, chased the prisoner across the continent, lost said captive, came home after a very dedicated search. Everybody wins," the orc said, offering a solution.
"We'll see. I have to fulfill a prophecy first."
With a polite pardon, Jale moved away from Krun'Gun and towards the front of the house. Tesk and Darael were out here peeling potatoes, Roon had joined the orc the moment the commander left.
"Mighty Commander, do aid us your strength!" Tesk called over, holding up a knife and a potato.
Jale chuckled, taking the items and sitting next to the warlock, whose bucket was already filled. "Only fair, I'll help."
So far north, the summer sun felt great, putting them all in a better mood, even while performing a tedious task such as skinning potatoes. Jale was peeling the vegetables while enjoying the midday heat, and a fun competition had grown.
The tall man was attempting to beat the number of potatoes his maegikally inclined companion had prepped. Arm with only a knife and a drive to be the best, Jale was pumping out the bare plants.
"Mm... I think he has you beat, Darael." Tesk laughed, tossing her own potatoes into the bucket.
Darael leaned forward to inspect the amounts in each bucket. "How? I pulled the skin off in one sleeve!"
Chuckling in pure delight, Jale patted his companion on the shoulder. "There there... I've been doing this since I was old enough to handle a knife."
The warlock scoffed, playfully, and slouched back on the bench. "Ah, well. I can do things you can't."
"That is true, yeah. But, in most scenarios, I can do it better."
"Please. I'd like to see you try," Darael said, his hands lifting to show his palms.
Jale pushed his bucket aside and offered a shrug. "I don't have to, I've already proven myself enough times."
"But do you believe that?" Tesk chimed in.
He nodded. "Of course."
In truth, Jale struggled to believe the words implying he had succeeded. Aware one wrong day and he would be reduced to the unworthy freak he was.
"We should use some local spices tonight, I don't want to waste all our supplies," the troll interrupted his thoughts.
Standing up, Jale nodded. "I agree, I could probably run to the marketplace and pick some up."
Darael jumped up at the mention of a marketplace. "Oh! I wanna tag along! I love seeing different cultures representing their own wares."
The tall man hummed, waving his companion to follow as he walked off. "I'd feel better being with someone on the streets... even you." Over exaggerated disgust being used to show it had been a joke.
"Haha. Should've been an entertainer," Darael said from behind.
Unable to explain why he wanted company in the city, Jale fell silent. I hate this, this city makes me so nervous and I don't know why. There's no war anymore, peace, I'm safe here. I am safe here right? He aimlessly searched for the marketplace while his anxiety grew. Surely they wouldn't attack a commander without any men, right? I have to assume even they suffered during the war... Few lives were lost, but supplies and trade suffered.
"Jale."
Snapped from his thoughts, the commander glanced over his shoulder at the warlock. "Hmm?"
A soft gaze combined with a subtle frown met his eyes. "Are you okay?" Darael asked, no jokes or teases. Just concern.
"Of course. We're just going to find some spices." Lies, lies, lies... He already knows you're acting odd.
The pale man stopped in his tracks, forcing his guide to halt. "You look a bit lost... But, not... Not physically."
Great, now he thinks you can't even go to the store. A chill ran up Jale's spine, cold pricks poking through his temples.
"He knows you can't do this, I bet he'll suggest you go back... He'll run. Don't let him go or you'll lose your job, your aunt will lose your support and perish." His panic made his thoughts louder as if someone whispered to him.
When the commander didn't respond, Darael frowned harder. "Jale, do we need to go back?"
"We?" A dumbfounded response slipped from Jale.
"As in we both head back to Krun's place. Maybe Tesk can offer better help. You're acting weird."
"Don't do it. You don't need help from a tusk-faced jackass or a blind salamander." Haunting voices hissed, bringing him to realize they couldn't be his own thoughts. It echoed and didn't sound alone.
Concluding it would be wise to listen to a real person vs voices, the tall man gave a single nod. "Okay."
His companion grabbed his forearm, firm, but understanding. "You know, I hope you know I didn't mean to imply I thought you couldn't do it."
Being guided back down the street, Jale barely heard the other spoke. His head was clogged with uncertainty and dangerous thoughts.
"You should've listened to us, now they'll all know exactly what you are. A weak, useless, coward." Hazy berating swirled in his skull. "Make him release you."
He was growing agitated at the thoughts that may or may not have been his own, but still, he allowed Darael to lead him. No... He hasn't given me any real reason to distrust him. Even when captured by trolls, he never spoke ill of me.
Muffled conversation passed Jale by, his bright blue eyes glazed over with absence. He knew they had made it to the house, and that Krun'gun and Tesk were both near him. But everything else was lost.