Chapter 4 - The Elder, Harrfell

"The fuck are you looking at?" Harrfell repeated to Gungmar, a hint of askance lending weight to every word.

Gungmar backed away slowly, careful to keep a deferential and compliant attitude to the rightly pissed Elder. No doubt he was surprised intently by the sudden (and uncomfortable) close-up appearance of the half-orc, which he managed to play it off by ear, by assuming a hard-ass exterior he usually used for dishonest-looking strangers and unruly guests.

Sniffing in disdain, the snot-covered orc looked around the room to confirm his growing suspicions and distrust of the half-orc's abrupt emergence, to notice if anything was out of place: if a single thing was stolen or touched by this stranger's hands despite being let in by his trusted subordinate. You can never be too careful.

Fortunately, either Gungmar covered his tracks well or the Elder was still a bit woozy, the latter hadn't noticed any major changes in his study. The harpy taxidermy was still there with her unfocused, black orbs. The books were fine—not a single thing was misplaced or a part of the shelf empty, everything was perfectly lined up and in their original and proper places.

Huh. All was right and good. Except for that mess he saw, looking down, and which he probably caused. Originally, he mistakenly blamed the half-orc in his mind, but thought better of it, when he remembered his brief collapse and nap prior. He did smack his head on the desk. Hard. Things were bound to be scattered from that force of weight.

Some ink stains on the floor and his imported Gnomish-woven carpet were going to be a nightmare to clean up, but which an Elder like him couldn't not afford. The brass inkwell and paperweight had a few scratches—nothing too terrible that a cheap repair can't fix—and his quill, which he picked up almost reverently near his slippers, and carefully placing it inside a glass case for safety. A gift from his nephew.

Harrfell was satisfied, but only by a nose. Everything was alright. In the meantime.

He turned his attention back to the patient half-orc and ceased his blatantly hostile glare at Gungmar, assuming a somewhat professional demeanor despite his disheveled and dirty state. His hunger and slight fatigue were cleverly hidden by his convincing act of feigned professionalism.

"Apologies for my crude words earlier. And... ah, wait," he called out in a rush, holding up a finger. "Please, wait for a minute. It would be ill-mannered of me to address you while in this filthy state of mine." He uttered diplomatically, a sharp and swift change to his brash personality.

Gungmar just nodded, keeping a vigilant eye on him, and waited, standing at attention while the old orc opted to briefly change out of his filthy attire to a fresh new set that he rummaged from a drawer. Harrfell then fixed himself up, particularly his hair and nose ring, with a cloth towel and sprayed an expensive perfume bottle's scent on him, covering up his somewhat rank odor. "Much better..." He whispered, his shame carefully buried underneath the strong-smelling perfume.

Gungmar could smell the old, dry dustiness of home beating down on his nostrils. A subtle herbal blend served as an accompaniment as well as a rich trace of a spicy scent trailing after it, the perfume smell wafting throughout the entire study and enveloping its strong presence within the room's confines. It wasn't entirely overwhelming their senses, no, since both orcs were accustomed to the strong, unrelenting, and harsh environment of the Gratt: with its dazzling sights, fragrant smells, and so on.

Only the weak-willed and lowly would succumb to a basic smell like this, of which Gungmar and, surprisingly, the frail Elder weren't a part. Toughened up by their upbringing, generations apart.

"I thank you for your patience. But, first, you," the Elder pointed with a strict finger, authority plain in his voice, "did not see anything here today. Understood? Nothing." He snapped his fingers intimidatingly at the half-orc, his polite words mixed with a warning tone, but found himself disappointed at seeing an unflinching stare, and scoffing.

"Yes, Elder. Nothing." Gungmar promised sincerely. What use would it do if he exposed the Elder's shame arbitrarily? It would only serve to make a dangerous enemy... and further the risk of his punishment's severity.

"...smart, then, you are. Screech or... else." He clawed a nail across his throat. "...I'll feed your remains to a manticore," he added, checking Gungmar for cracks in his exterior. A threat like that was delivered with conviction (and also falsehood—he wasn't crazy and petty enough to demand an unjust death), and nobody ever successfully resisted cowering at his usual threats that worked like a charm.

Gungmar nodded slowly, absorbing the Elder's words. Great, the old orc had a small grin to himself. He still had his edge, even with the unintentional display of his embarrassing self earlier and the half-orc's lack of a reaction.

"Alright, youngling, we understand each other quite well. Very good. Now, on to business shall we? I assume you are here regarding my assistance in a delicate matter. So, your papers, show me." Harrfell extended a palm for the half-orc's nonexistent papers, beckoning him to do as he commanded. "Merrak should have given you the clear-so."

Seeing that he had no choice but to speak out honestly, the half-orc did so. "I don't have anything like that, Elder." Gungmar blurted out.

"I see...? That may serve as a problem. Why is that, may I ask?" An unworried look was on Harrfell's face.

The half-orc paused, a hundred thoughts running simultaneously in his head for the optimal outcome that he could think of. And settling on one after a moment's consideration.

Gungmar reasoned to spare that lady-orc from earlier by not spilling the beans on her involvement. He owed the guardswoman that, at least, after mildly threatening her with her employer's sleazy character. Instead, he directed the situation's entire fault to that warden he talked to before. And which the guardswoman blamed for the no-papers incident.

Warden... Eetia, he remembered. The lazy yet authoritative officer of that underground prison. Not that Charsig assistant nor that guardswoman who, from what he gathered from the Elder, was named Merrak.

The warden was the perfect scapegoat, in a sense.

"Warden Eetia gave me nothing of the sort, Elder. No papers." He said brazenly, tongue and mind tensing to prepare for the battle of wits and lies and half-truths against the aged greenskin: his mind working at optimal capacity to convince Harrfell of his innocence and 'truth'.

"Hrr. That is a problem. More paperwork for me to handle. Can't have a stray occurrence such as this messing up the system." The Elder said, eyeing the paperwork on his desk with hatred. "Eetia, I'll have to penalize that layabout." He mumbled, making a mental note already for his task. He looked up and pierced Gungmar's eyes with his own. "And winding back to that—tell me, how did you get past Merrak?"

"I told her that I—" Gungmar was cut off by a brisk, insistent wave.

"Nevermind. No matter, that's not exactly important as of right now. I'll have to ask her in detail later." He said nonchalantly, yawning. "We need to finish this up quick."

Weird. Gungmar grazed a hand to his earring, half-absentmindedly, and half-thinking. This Elder was a bit of an enigma, different from the surface-level rumors and in-person personality he's been showing.

"But, it's a good thing, then," Harrfell continued unprompted, "I'll have to trick Eetia to do the rest of my paperwork for today. A fitting punishment for his negligence." He suddenly laughed manically, steepling his fingers, the bags under his eyes painting his image of a psychopath in need of sleep. Already imagining Eetia's face of disappointment, a stroke of luck descended on him from above in the form of the half-orc. He could catch up on ZZZs earlier than expected. And life-saving food for dinner: a banquet of a dinner.

"I have enough of these documents today, you see." he slapped a stack in mild amusement. "You're lucky I'm a merciful orc, and that fortune's in your favor." Harrfell grinned toothily, gaiety replacing his stone-faced stare.

Gungmar had to double-back on what Harrfell just said. That was something he didn't expect. Brashly declaring a misuse of power by exploiting Eetia's 'negligence' to him? Gungmar couldn't help but show his bewildered expression, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Surprised? Ha! Crafty, aren't I? Of course, you should have expected that from someone like me." Harrfell had an expectant look on his face, to which Gungmar just shrugged in acceptance. "Eetia's a smart lad, but he's too much of a lazy deadbeat to do menial paperwork. He only likes shouting and smacking rowdy troublemakers. A fine job he does being a warden, I must say, but a waste of a genius such as him." He scoffed.

"And that's that," he continued, "so, go on. Tell me. What I can do for you, youngling? Ah, first, your name. And tribe, of which I can already tell that you're a desert-dweller. Your fur mantle, possibly made from a rarely seen king-class vurgr's aureate fur, and the way you're used to my perfume's exotic smell made for dead giveaways. Did you serve and come from the Gratt or sands-blasted Klen?"

"Gungmar. Gratt-born." He said simply and got a brief nod as well as a prideful smirk. "And, well..." Gungmar tried to pick out the right words to say about his malfeasance while biting on his lip. "I had a scuffle with this... officer."

"Oh? Do tell. Bare all the details to me."

"This officer—tall, lazy-eyed, arrogant, and had a tattoo of a skull, a vaguely human skull, impaled in swords and spears on his throat—insulted me for my..." Gungmar gestured to himself. For being a half-spawn.

Harrfell waved him to continue, interest alight in his eyes. A bloody tale of brawls had always entertained him. "I tried to defuse the situation the best I could, just talking, even with him insulting me all the same... until we came to blows when he called my mother a whore." Harrfell's attentive grin strained a bit when he heard that.

A working thought processed in his mind. "That is always the case for the offspring of different races. Much so if it's our lifelong foes. It's not taboo but still, there's bound to be friction regarding mixed blood. Human or otherwise. What else happened?" Harrfell pressed.

"I didn't suffer any injuries," he said matter-of-factly, "but the officer got the worst of it. A knocked-out tooth, some mild bruising, and so on. I eventually got arrested when some passersby called for the Watch to break up the brawl. Then I landed in prison, stayed there for a night, got let out after a day, and arrived here for my reprimand." Gungmar summarized. "I know it was wrong to punch a high-ranking officer, but I lost all reason when things got heated. It's my fault."

"Interesting. What a journey of events. It hasn't been brought up to my attention about that particular instance, since there aren't any papers." Harrfell pointed out. "But, I'll make Eetia explain everything to me. Rest assured. And also, good for you for standing up to a bully. I may dislike the softskins and their Empire, but even so, family's family." The orc clapped, his own family coming into his mind and vowing that he too, likewise, will do anything for them. He was a family-orc.

Gungmar just bowed his head, thanking the Elder for his kind words.

"From what the Laws that we of the Elders of all the four cardinal directions have established," Harrfell began with a flourish, vaunting his status. "This crime of yours merits a half-year in jail. Or a fine of a gold coin, seeing that the officer you assaulted in question was of the Skintear clan. Those greedy hatchlings might want excessive reparations for your attack, like, say, oh, about three gold coins. But, since I like you more than I dislike those war-crazed, human-hating zealots: a gold coin's fine..." He trailed off.

"Zurul's tusks." Gungmar cursed aloud. The Elder's second generous offer about the fine was, as low as it could go, would put him into debt ten times over compared to Sshashina's rucksack priced at two silver.

And speaking of which, Gungmar just now noticed the sweets box covertly hidden beside a large stack of paper, gone unnoticed by the Elder and him until now. He'll have to bring it up later to complete Sshashina's job for him, otherwise, he'd feel bad about not completing it. And possibly convince the Elder to lower the fine? Jail time? Or both.

For now, he replied to Harrfell's awaiting gaze.

"A gold coin, Elder? That's expensive. And a six-month-long jail time? In that cramped cell? Isn't there any other way?" He urged.

"Hrrm. Do you want to be executed? Ah, I jest, I jest." He jokingly assured the half-orc's slight frown. "That was an old Law, an unfair Law at that, of a bygone age. But, perhaps..." Harrfell rubbed a hand on his chin, thinking until a thunderbolt of an idea struck him.

"Ah, let me see here. Wait for a while." The orc grabbed a handful of important-looking papers on his desk and skimmed through them until he stalled at three of them, probably the most important. He picked those out and read everything written down.

"You want something else, right? If you are dirt-poor or don't want to waste some time of your life rotting in prison, then these alternative options will certainly help you out. Are you an active soldier or not?"

"Not anymore, Elder. I got back here to the Ward about a month ago because I was to be part of the garrison here in light of my accomplishments. Everything was relatively peaceful after a major and recent skirmish. Until the scuffle."

"So, I take it that's a no?"

"Yes..."

"Alright." Harrfell wrote with his quill, the sound squeaking on the thick paper. The ink he got from an extra inkwell inside a drawer was subpar to his spilled previous one. "How long have you been a soldier?"

"A few years. Six, give or take." Harrfell nodded, mouthing 'incredible' under his breath.

"For one so young, you are quite mature and experienced. Perfect!" Harrfell smiled at the half-orc. Gungmar didn't like the look he was giving, and immediately a guarded expression appeared on his face.

Seeing that, the Elder only laughed. "What? You don't want to get back into it? At all? The thrill of battle and all that? Not that I understand your apprehension, since I'm, well, who I am. Not a haggard soldier." He inadvertently insulted the half-orc, who ignored it. "Anyhow, these options from A to C will replace the punishment that I originally proposed. So make sure to hear me out first." He suggested.

"A, you are to be shipped off to the far west, beyond the sands of Gratt and the Ward's lush green plains. Beyond the Empire's cities and ports and the calm waves of Marrh, to the Twin Islands. The two halves of the island are split between our people and the islanders vying for total control of the islands. Since you are a veteran soldier, you can help out the Tower much in protecting the Twin-headed Guardian and our tactical advantage in the western ocean. Which means constant raids by pirates, the Empire's imperial navy, and attacks by the islanders." He said without so much pausing to take a breath.

"I know Marrhfell takes care of matters like these since it is his territory, more or less, but the Tower personally sent me a paper. Well, all four of us, rather. So, it'd be useful to increase ties with that Warchief by sending a soldier like you to him."

Gungmar shook his head. Constant attacks? And threats on his life? Out in the open sea? No, thank you. There were still two other options, so he gestured for the next.

"I see. Next is B. Err... *Sigh*." Harrfell tried to crush the paper in his hand but had second thoughts about it, sighing as he proceeded to read the paper, much to Gungmar's stark confusion. "The clan of... Silverclaw—my family, mind you—asks for a seasoned bodyguard to protect their home against the cursed mage-nomads. Preferably a veteran to lead our retinues with admirable leadership qualities. The nomads' massacre of the, ahem, rare curved-horn mountain goats proved alarming in disrupting our defenses and burning down... yadda, yadda. You're not a mage-hunter nor a leader, are you?" He asked, abruptly changing the topic and not finishing reading the paper's contents.

Gungmar scratched at his ear, and almost shook his head because he certainly had killed a few mages in the past, but was stopped by a firm voice.

"You're not, aren't you?" Harrfell insisted.

Gungmar then just nodded hesitantly.

"Good, good. I don't want anybody but me to handle this situation..." The Elder whispered. Thoughts of revenge flashed through his eyes before he continued to the last piece of paper. Gungmar just coughed uncomfortably, wondering what that was all about.

"And lastly, C. The In-Between." Harrfell grimaced from reading the paper. Concernedly, he looked up at Gungmar. "The In-Between's a stronghold in the center of Marrh. An autonomous region. It is a gateway to all directions: to the Serpent-God's Domain and the March of Frost up to the north, the Empire of Man and the Gratt down south, and the creepy Evergone to the northeast. I don't recommend this one, youngling."

"What's wrong with it, Elder?" Gungmar had barely any knowledge about the world's affairs and geography. It wasn't of any importance during the chaos of battle, to a soldier like him. Only the Gratt, the dwarven kingdom, some camps and outposts, the Harr Pyneers and Harr Py, were almost exclusively all that he knew. And some great goblin cities that Rhim taught him about.

"Right, right. It's, well..." Harrfell tapped at his nose-ring, and spoke up after a moment's hesitation. "It's a nest for the seedy figures that we cast aside. Full of snaky criminals, mad lunatics, troublesome misfits, and ex-prisoners who all wind up there when they... prove to be beyond help."

Wow. Now that's something, alright. Gungmar listened closely as the orc continued.

"But, despite that, from what I've heard, a prominent Warchief rose in the ranks and is quite dissimilar from those under him. An orderly semblance of a figure who commands respect and awe. A hulking mass of muscles, well-mannered and intelligent even with that kind of stature fit for a musclehead and who's almost as good as an Elder, they say. Ha! Though, I've only heard about it from Gadfell's gossip so best take it with a grain of salt." Harrfell snickered. "And that's all I've got. All the alternative options for your punishment can be urgently taken up at your behest. And, well, since you declined the first and second options, C's all you've got."

That was unfair. The Elder purposefully chose of his own accord to turn down his family's request for a bodyguard. But it's not like Gungmar was about to voice that out, so he kept silent.

For some time, Gungmar was off in his world, just thinking. Pondering about the three options that he could choose for his punishment to be concluded while the Elder was tipping his seat back, dangerously lifting the chair up and down the ground distractedly while waiting for Gungmar's choice.

A gold coin for a fine? Inevitable debt. Might have to work in a mine for years or, worse, be bought out by that officer's coin to shoulder off my debt without my say-so. And I'd be at his mercy. Like a slave. Jail time? Who wants to rot in that disgusting, tight-fitting cell for months? Zurul's tusks. And the In-Between? A den of shady ruffians. Possibly it's only exaggerated, but I can't say that for sure. Out of all three, the In-Between's much better... fine, I guess that'll do.

"Ah, right, Elder Harrfell, how long am I going to be stationed there? About a year or so?" Gungmar asked.

"It's not under my jurisdiction, youngling. The Warchief over there yonder's the one going to handle that kind of thing. So this means you're going to take me up on option C?"

Gungmar gave him a stiff nod. Harrfell planted his feet on the floor and wrote out the details on another piece of parchment straight away, and after a while clipped that and the In-Between's notice together. "Best of luck to you in your punishment, youngling. I'll handle the immediate paperwork. Just come back here at dawn tomorrow at the plaza near the hero, best prepare for the bi-monthly supply chain of recruits and resources. You'll travel together with the chain and usual guides: that is, you and a few other troublemakers."

The Elder yawned and rubbed at his eyes, his stomach croaking once again after his short nap's rest wore off. Sighing, he stretched a hand to the hallway for the half-orc to leave. "You may go now."

That was quick. Gungmar grabbed the paper, stored it in his leather rucksack, and the box of sweets motioning to leave but not before the Elder suspiciously called out after him.

"Whoa. Hey! I recognize that package anywhere. Isn't that Sshashina-zir's… sweets?" A greedy, hungry, and desiring glint appeared in his eyes.