[Orkon] Shelter or sanctuary?

[Salai L’Evienne]

Darkening, Immanis 5, Spring, Era XIV

The light of the twin moons bathed the Cosmopolis in their faintly blue light, casting shadows that to a creature of the brightening would have been oddly scupltural, an interplay of sharp shadows and bright illumination. The light was as cold as the air was this early in Spring at the foot of the mountains, though Sheria rarely became truly cold, not in the sense of the ground freezing for whole seasons. But this suited the elf who had grown up in the relative warmth and unchanging seasons of the underworld.

His hood cast back to reveal the faint luminescence of his gaze, penetrating deep into those cast shadows, he slipped through the trees untroubled by the darkness. The travel from his home had been a long journey, and one made all the more difficult by his lack of experience at travel. This last darkening though had made him more wary for he was now restricted into a more narrow part, caught between the mountains and the sea between Daltina and the once city of Narim, and he headed for the shelter of the orkish fortress.

It was always dangerous to approach one of the dark cities, especially one who had sucessfully drawn the teeth of the Empire. He hoped to pass as friend of either side should he be intercepted, though friendship wasn't a concept that was shared by the two sides, but his home was linked in trade to Orckon and even the orcs knew better than to disrupt that trade while they were at war. At least so he hoped, but he knew grimly that it was a risk, and risks needed to be taken.

Movement ahead caught his eye and he froze in place, his cloak flapping idly in the slight breeze that flowed down from the mountains.

[Salai L’Evienne]

His breath came slowly as his eyes scanned the shadows and his ears were alert for any sound. A fox perhaps or some other wild animal shifting itself out of his path? He considered the likelihood and waited for a little longer for confirmation. The night remained quiet around him for sound was an invitation to a predator or warning to prey. Nothing. He carried on, cautious until he was past the point where he'd seen the movement, but nothing happened as he passed by, no sound and no movement to alarm him. He shrugged it off a random happenstance and continued on his way. A dozen paces further and there was a crackle in the brush behind him. He reacted instinctively and turned stepping to the side as he did and well that he did for a spear flashed by and buried itself into a tree a few paces on.

Goblins! The length of the spear made the identification immediate, though they were an obvious risk in this part of Telath. He reached up and drew his swords as a hiss of disappointment came to his ears, the blades sliding smoothly from the sheaths and arcing down until the points faced back the way he'd come. There was movement and noise as several small figures appeared from the ground where they had been hiding. He counted three bodies, which seemed a logical number for if they had been more, they would have faced him directly and not attempted the spear in the back. As is was one of them hung back, a club in his hands, most likely the spear thrower. He considered running, but this was their territory and there was every likelihood that this was merely the trigger for an ambush somewhere else.

Not wanting them to start acting like the pack that they were he moved forward, heading for the goblin to his right, whose spear quickly pointed unerringly at the elf. Throw or point? He needed to know which these goblins preferred with their spears and his question was soon answered as the goblin pulled back his arm. Salai reacted, running forward swiftly, hurdling the vegetation that blocked his path, making a loud yell just as the goblin started to throw, then diving for the dirt and rolling on his side, swords held clear. The ground bruised him and branches poked and gouged at him, but the spear slipped past with just a crease of pain below his left shoulder.

Dirt smudged his face as he rolled to his knees and then attempted to push back to his feet. The goblin with the club ran forward swinging it in a roundhouse blow aimed at the elfs left shoulder while the now spearless goblin reached for his own knotted length of timber. Salai lost track of the third goblin as he paused on his right knee, equal in height now to the goblin. He calculated his swing, striking round and to the left with both swords, aiming for the club. His left sword hit it with a finger jarring thud and slowed it and moments later his right sword struck near the base and jarring it out of the goblins loosened grip. His left sword stuck for a moment in the wood and his right was too close to use, so he punched out with his right hand, catching the goblin in the forehead as it stumbled towards him with a noticable clunk as the sword hilt struck. The goblin looked dazed and fell to its knees as Salai pushed all the way to his feet, shaking the club off his left sword and glanced around for the other attackers.

[Salai L’Evienne]

Too close was the answer as a club hit him in the side and he felt his ribs creak under the blow. He stumbled forward and struck out wildly in the direction of the club wielding goblin forcing it back and giving him the precious moments to find his final opponent who it seemed had chosen to retain the spear and was now intent on stabbing the elf in the chest with it. His swords were out to the side and low but the endless drills he had endured in the House forces came back to him and he brought the tips up and across each other as he punched the blades forward in a cross block, the sword blades catching the spear somewhat behind the head and upwards so that he jerked his head to the side to avoid it's point. It rendered all of their weapons useless as the swords had cut into the wood of the spears and he wasn't about to release it so that it could stab him again. He used his greater bulk, something that didn't happen that often when elves fought the other races and stepped in, kicking the goblin as hard as he could in its body, the impact a great satisfaction.

It was short lived however as another blow hit him on the back, almost driving the wind from his body as the goblin seemed intent on tenderising the potential meal. Salai ran forward, stamping on the prone goblin in front of him as he did so then turned and faced his opponents. They were still a couple of paces away, taken by surprise by his sudden move, and not being in the mood to be generous any more, especially since these were goblins, he hacked at the prone figure with his right sword.

He spoke for the first time, though he did so with a wince of pain, his eyes luminous in the dark, though for all of them it might as well have been the brightening. "So, who is next?" He asked them plainly, his glance going between the two, wondering if they would still have the courage to attack him. They hesitated, glancing between each other as the desire to be first into the attack was diminished. When it became clear that neither of them was going to volunteer themselves, he spoke again.

"You." He said, pointing his right sword at the goblin on that side. "You will take me to Orckon. And you," he said to other waving his other sword will do whatever it is that you want with your fellow here."[/i] He had a fair idea of it's fate, "and don't even think of bringing your pack after me. Not only will I take care to kill you first, but your Masters will be displeased with you." The goblins lowered their clubs by which he assumed their agreement since they didn't seem inclined to talk to him. He remained armed and they proceeded off into the darkening, his senses stretched out as best he could until the bulk of the orkish fortress appeared on the horizon ahead and he dismissed his guide.

[Salai L’Evienne]

He walked through the gates, past orcs who glared at him from under the full panoply of their battle dress, which as usual with orcs consisted more of appearance than function, though it shouldn't be imagined for a moment that it hindered them, though aside from putting fear into their enemies, neither was some of it terribly functional either. He moved his eyes aside from the hooks that decorated the otherwise functional axe that the nearest guard carried. He didn't recognise their clan markings, but then he was far from far outside the Khardan orc clans. Despite his marginally human appearance, his eyes were all the pass he needed to get through the gate.

Inside, the fortress appeared to have returned to it's old function and no longer was the immediate area behind the gates reserved for visitors, instead orcs roamed as they would though the Fos Rog kept them away from the few visitors who were there. The fortress needed supplies, and from the wagons that were set about inside the gate, it appeared that they were still managing to pull supplies in. His objective though was further in and he continued on, directions memorised from before he ever left Herozzal for he knew as well as any that appearing to be lost would mark him as an outsider, and outsiders were always potential prey.

He ignored the goblins that called to him offering him this or that, putting his hands to his swords once or twice in order to warn off a few especially persistent or desperate ones. They followed him though, but he was used to that in a society where the goblins formed the underbelly and survived or not on the leavings of the other races. He passed through the gates of the dark race village, his eyes once more the only pass that he needed, and indeed the Imperial Visa that was carefully stored away in his gear would mean little here.

That he passed the guards didn't mean that he was welcome here, not even here where the dregs of the dark elven societies mixed. Fights were common and to be expected when esh'lahier, human and vysstichi rubbed shoulders, especially when only the latter were not renegade to their race. Here he faced not only the prejudices of the two races who claimed parts of him but also of the traitor shadow elves, betrayers of the highest order, and according to what he had been taught, not to be trusted at any level.

That his welcome was less than assured was made clear when he approached what was clearly the main hut, for there was no other description for it. He was suddenly pushed from behind, a move that was as unexpected as it was sudden and he sprawled face down in the mud that made up the roadway. He'd not heard anyone behind him, but the laughs that accompanied his fall were in a tone that was all too clear. Pure bloods, as arrogant here in this dump of a refugee camp as they were back home. His attempt to rise was met by another push and he sprawled for a second time, to more laughter. This time though he was allowed to rise and he turned, face as black as thunder to face his tormentor.

[Salai L’Evienne]

He was met by the grinning visages of two younger Vyssie, and the fact that they were openly smiling was as much of an insult as the assault had been, though to anyone but an elf the expression likely wasn't that noticeable. Salai flexed his fingers and prepared to draw, too much history behind him to even consider backing off in this nest of vipers.

A voice from behind him stopped him where he was and wiped the smiles off the other elves. They turned and left leaving Salai confused, and he turned slowly to see who was his saviour and why. He stopped, even more confused for it was an Esh'lahier who stood there. Mature and confident, but still an Esh'lahier.

"You are lucky I came along," the elf spoke, "for they would have cut you down for the sport of it. There are many here like them and one brightening they will choose the wrong prey, but that wouldn't have been this brightening."

It was galling to owe his life to a shadow elf, and he held himself rigid to avoid showing his thoughts and his voice was stiff. "Thank you for your intervention, I owe you a debt for your assistance." The elf nodded seriously. "As you will." If he mocked, Salai could detect a trace of it, though the blue eyes were disconcerting. "If you survive and you ever wish to repay it, then ask for me. The name is En'dia." The elf turned and walked into the large building leaving Salai none the wiser. The weapons and the way he walked spoke volumes to Salai about his experience, but he was left speechless and clueless as to exactly what had just happened.

With nothing else to do, he followed the other elf inside, where there was no trace of him. He spoke to the elf that was there and arranged a corner in one of the huts for a few brightenings. He wanted to take a break and this place, dangerous as it was was as safe a haven as any. As the suns came into full light, he went to his bed and slept until the relaxing moonlight again shone.

[Salai L’Evienne]

As the suns set, Salai rolled out of the cloak in which he'd wrapped himself and set about stretching out the kinks that sleeping on the hard floor had left him. The sleep hadn't been that good either as he'd remained half awake to ensure that he actually woke up and with all of his goods. There was almost nothing that he trusted about this place even though it was currently wealthy from the loot of Narim. Much of that loot had dispersed through the clans that made up the Horde but some undoubtedly remained here. That didn't mean that some wouldn't be averse to more and so he kept watch, though his possessions were meagre enough.

He stepped out into the moonlight, a light cloud helping to reduce the feeling of too much space overhead and he moved round to a clear space at the back of the hut to start a practice. Shaking his arms loose he practised the draw and re-sheathe, the light curvature of the blades helping them slide in and out. As he did so he moved into the standard stance, first left foot forward which he preferred but then also right foot since the nature of dual wield meant that balance was important and the need to move equally with both left and right.

Satisfied that he could make transition comfortably and that he didn't miss the handles of the swords when he reached for them, he started on his blocks, working both blades together, sweeping through the air, first to the left, then the right. He repeated the moves and then moved on to the more difficult top quarter blocks. These did not work so well as a double block, so he changed to block and strike, covering the angles and including the side block in the same move. He moved as he blocked, shifting out of the way of the strike and into the strike.

He rested for a while since his breath was coming short now, and folded the cloak out on one side as the sweat was soaking into his back. Now the darkening air chilled it and he returned to his practice. Strikes from the upper quarter, duplicated with both blades, then from the outside. He allowed himself to be absorbed by the simple moves, building power into the strikes, careful though of hitting the blades together, though he couldn't avoid the occasional metallic clash since there was no body there to absorb and slow the blows. Eventually he slipped the blades into their sheaths, donned his cloak once more and set out to explore the fortress.

[Salai L’Evienne]

The fortress was far from the most attractive place, he decided as he wandered around it. It was perhaps also one of the most dangerous places that he had ever been, though at that it wasn't so surprising since the orkish form of honour didn't include the sort of respect towards the dark elves that the elves themselves expected. Feeling nervous kept him alert and watchful. There were places that he didn't go, places that were not patrolled, but he did pay his respects at the temples for that was expected. He stopped to watch a fight in the angry pits, shaking is head slowly at two orcs ripping each other apart for no particular reason that he could determine.

Back in the relative safety of the gate, he stopped in at the tavern there, still protected by the fos rog for the benefit of the few traders that stopped by the fortress. The ale was no better than he'd expected and there were more people there than he'd imagined that there would be. Most sat in small groups, not appearing to trust their neighbours and as he watched, a group of farmers by their dress left to go up to their rooms above. The level of conversation was muted and he sat at the wall and just watched, savouring the relative safety. It was an interesting observation, for it showed that while some might attribute it to the cunning of mindless beasts, Salai was much more convinced that it was down to the orcs honour code. They had an unusual view of the world in his opinion, savage and brutal to be sure, and they enjoyed fear and pain, but they were also ruthless in their enforcement of their own rules. It showed in the fos rog and the other orcs charged with enforcing order. It went without saying that the enforcement of the rules had to be ruthless to be effective, but even the orcs charged with maintaining order wouldn't be enough to stop the Horde if it rampaged which told it's own story of the clans power over the individual orcs.

But there was only so long that he could spend in any one tavern on his own, so eventually he made his way back to this home, temporary though it might be.