Reforged pt 16
comidacomida copyright 2020

The Orcs of the Eastern Tribe did exactly as Rokgam Blackskull had promised: they provided the group a large tent to share for the night.  Some kind of cooked meat in sufficient amount for everyone was provided, along with some roasted, dark-brown tubers to finish off the rustic meal.  Arthur didn't mind the food; the root vegetables were starchy and had a faint sweetness to them, which was a nice accompaniment to the gamey protein. 

Although primitive, the accommodations were enough to keep everyone sheltered and warm so he couldn't rightly object.  What DID agitate the blacksmith was the fact that the Orcs had refused to help.  Apparently he wasn't the only one who had been disturbed by that notion and, shortly after dinner, Orvig left the tent to go speak with the young chieftain again, promising to return once he had another chance to change his mind.

During the Orc's absence, Arthur led his sons in getting the area ready for bed.  In addition to their traveling gear, the group had also been supplied with some coarse blankets to protect against the cold, thick wool-like mats upon which to lay, and some stuffed satchels to use as pillows.  Used to being in close proximity with his sons, the blacksmith had no trouble whatsoever setting up a communal sleeping area in an almost triangular shape; Peter would sleep on the left, then himself, then Harold and, finally, Lucas, where the least square footage was required-- not that he'd stay there long since the Kobold would, at some point, assuredly wriggle his way between the Human and the Gnoll since it was so common a thing as to be tradition.

Not quite certain how their traveling companion would prefer to sleep, Arthur made sure that enough of the spare sleeping material would be available for Orvig, and then, while his sons were putting the finishing touches on their communal bed, the blacksmith took a few extra linens over to Faelyn, who had already laid down on a mat with a thin traveling blanket atop him.  The Human held out one of the thicker Orcish ones despite the Tabashi's back being to him. "There are a few extra blankets if you need."

Faelyn spoke to him, still facing the canvas of the tent. "I am unaffected by the weather.  You can keep it."

The statement had the weight of a dismissal, but the tone suggested mere indifference, leading Arthur to believe that the young cat man wasn't one to waste time with social niceties.  The blacksmith was comfortable enough with that thought seeing as he'd spent a good portion of his life dealing with people who went through life exactly the same way.  "Alright.  I don't think we'll need it, but I'll keep it by the fire pit in case someone does.  You're welcome to it if you change your mind."

The Druid's tone remained unchanged, though he did at least turn his head to look over his shoulder. "I will not, but thank you for your concern."

The large tent had a wide enough floor plan that, even with the fire pit taking up the center there was more than enough room for the Smiths to have their bed-down area and ample space for Faelyn to create his own.  More than that, there was a spot where they could store their gear, and enough room leftover for Orvig to prepare his own sleeping arrangements without anyone getting too crowded.  It was a far cry from the simple, one-bolt cloth tents he'd become used to back when he was doing militia work in his youth.  Arthur chuckled to himself as he realized just how long past that time had been.

Peter, who was just settling down into the bedding beside him, glanced toward the blacksmith. "Is something funny, Father?"

The Human couldn't help but smile, holding his arms out as his Minotaur son descended down to lay next to him, obediently drawing close so Arthur could hug him without reaching.  The Human let out a content sigh. "Just thinking about the past."

Harold slid up against Arthur's other side, sliding an arm beneath the blacksmith's pillow while the other draped across his side. "Lucas' first bath?"

He, Peter, and Harold shared a chuckle.  The Gnoll was pressed firmly enough against the Human that Arthur felt the impact of a little Kobold fist against Harold's back.  It was followed by an objection. "Hey!  I don't remember it, so that's an inside joke, and you know Dad's rules on inside jokes!"

The blacksmith realized that he had to keep the peace. "That's true, Harold.  Be nice and don't instigate."

Peter lowered his muzzle across Arthur's head, murmuring softly. "You were laughing too, you know."

It was true, and Arthur had no real excuse; he simply smiled, letting the quiet time with his boys banish the lasting sour memories of their meeting with the chieftain from his mind.  Life had changed dramatically in the short time since the attack on Hearthbridge but he had to keep an optimistic view, not just for himself, but for his sons.  The truth of the matter was that he  had likely lost his shop; many of the people he knew in town were dead; Hearthbridge would never be the same.  Regardless, he had his sons with him.  They were safe and healthy and, despite the ever-present threat of a rogue wizard, they were together.

* * * * *

By the time Orvig had returned Arthur had already fallen asleep; based on the statements from his sons they had apparently done the same.  When Arthur awoke it was to the sounds of a quiet conversation between Orvig and Faelyn.  Without interrupting, the blacksmith slowly extricated himself from the pile of his sons and moved to join them; despite the tense interaction at the beginning, the Knight and the Druid seemed to be getting along cordially.

Orvig paused in the conversation long enough to greet him. "Good morning, Arthur.  Did you want some Red Root Tea?  It will help you awaken."

Only once the Orc pointed it out did the Human realize that one of the group's traveling pots was atop the fire and the tent was permeated with a spicy-sweet scent, not unlike the rare aroma of cinnamon and cloves reserved.  Such spices were reserved for special events, such as the Festival of Pelor held during the summer, but the aroma was pleasantly surprising nevertheless.  "Is that cider of some kind?"

Faelyn scoffed. "He just said.  It is Red Root Tea."

Taking the bland rebuke in stride, Arthur elaborated. "Usually when I smell a drink with cinnamon and cloves it's warm cider."

Orvig interrupted another statement from the Tabashi. "Red Root is used by many Orcish tribes as a drink before bed to aid in digestion.  For Humans it is in many ways similar to breakfast tea or coffee and helps with alertness.  It does smell very much like cloves and cinnamon, but it tastes peppery and sour."

The discussion of the strange new drink lasted long enough for Arthur to take his first sip of it and, true to form, it reminded him of cider with lemon added, but without the apple.  It was bitter as well as sour and peppery, and had a decidedly 'spiced' taste to it, but it was not at all unpleasant and so he sipped on it as his sons slowly roused themselves.  They were all invited to partake, which they did, to a variety of responses.

Despite Peter's initial expression after tasting it, the Minotaur sipped at it regardless without objection.  Harold was apparently familiar with it and had at his cup with abandon while Lucas' response was much more in line with Peter's first response, only the Kobold set the cup down.  "It tastes like someone tried to cover up spoiled lemon with a lot of spices and stuff.  Not a fan.  Wouldn't recommend."

Rather than let his little brother make a scene, Harold simply reached over Lucas and swiped the cup, pouring the Kobold's serving into his own.  "There.  All better."

While his sons went through their morning routine, Arthur pulled Orvig aside, speaking quietly. "How did your follow-up meeting go?"

The young lord shook his head. "Not well... more of the same, in fact.  They are unwilling to act against Maeryk.  The Wizard took Rokgam's father, and among Orc that is seen as maintaining a prisoner for leverage; they aren't willing to act against him."

Arthur sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "And they don't realize that Maeryk is much more dangerous than that..."

Orvig nodded forlornly.  "I tried to explain... that wizard is only keeping them alive while they're of use.  Apparently Maeryk has been through here twice; the first time they put up a fight, but the second time they didn't bother resisting.  I explained that surrendering to that wizard means they're already dead, and they're just drawing breath until he decides they don't need to anymore."

It was a poetic statement of sorts but the blacksmith would have expected nothing less from the son of a statesman.  Orvig was far more equipped to handle diplomacy on a scale required for talking to nobility or, in the case of the orcs, chieftains.  "So what are they going to do now?  How did Rokgam take the news?"

The knight sighed. "They are going to keep breathing until Maeryk comes to put them down for good.  They aren't willing to join us in stopping him."

Faelyn, whose feline ears were apparently keen enough to be listening in even from half way across the tent, chose to interject. "Then we're done here?"

Arthur took his turn to sigh. "I would have liked to have stayed here to help, but it's a waste of time and energy trying to render aid to someone who isn't willing to accept it.  If these people have given up we have to go somewhere that we can do some good..." he glanced toward Orvig "And I think that means trying to get to Draven."

The Orc nodded. "If Maeryk is taking the Cheif and Lurnah to Draven then we have to get there as soon as possible... whatever he has planned, I'm certain it's nothing good."

The blacksmith agreed readily.  "Right.  Draven is a proper city, and many times larger than Hearthbridge.  Maeryk isn't going to be able to walk into town or send in his minions like he did to our home without a fight... and if he plans on attacking Draven then we need to be there to make sure he fails."

Harold nodded. "Damn right."

Peter interjected. "Language, Harold."

Lucas smirked.  "Damn right."

* * * * *

Their trip that day would last well into twilight as they had a long journey to reach Draven and both Orvig and Arthur were adamant about making as good as time as possible; they were not about to let Maeryk ruin any more lives.  The blacksmith's sons did their part, maintaining the speed, not that Arthur doubted them considering they were all in excellent physical condition.  Even forging a path cross country through the snow, the party gave it their all.

Lucas, considering his short stride was decidedly the slowest of the group but they made due once his eldest brother picked him up and positioned him on his shoulder.  It also gave them an extra set of eyes positioned a decent height above the ground to keep a look out.  The Kobold's issue with cold was, once again, not an issue thanks to the druidic power of Faelyn and, once Lucas was suitably enchanted, the Tabashi jogged forward to remain near the front of the group where Arthur led them onward until they made camp.

The pace they set on the first day was just short of frantic and once camp was finally made they  all slipped into a deep sleep, save Faelyn, who stayed up to keep watch.  Arthur promised to take the pre-dawn morning watch since he was usually up early anyway but, oddly, when he awoke he came to realize that it was later than he'd expected.  Stepping out of the tent into the area they'd cleared for camp he saw that Faelyn was still awake.

The thought of their Druid staying up all night didn't sit well with him. Approaching the Tabashi, Arthur moved to stand beside him, keeping his tone as neutral as possible before he questioned "You didn't get any sleep?"

Faelyn shook his head. "No... I have too much on my mind, and the rest of you looked to have needed it more."

Arthur frowned at the news and took a seat across the smoldering fire pit from the cat man and leaned forward to see if any of the coals could be easily relit. "I had always heard that magic users need to be well rested in order to study their spells.  How will--"

His question never made it out as the Tabashi pointed at the remnants of charcoal and spoke a single word in a language far beyond the blacksmith's comprehension.  Immediately a little flame sprouted into being and, moments later, it had spread out to the size of a proper campfire.  Faelyn stated "I am a Druid... my magic comes from nature itself.  Whether I sleep or not, so long as I draw breath I am a conduit for the elements."

While the statement and exhibition of power had the tone of a brush-off, Arthur wasn't content to let their interaction stay at that.  Slowly adding more somewhat-dry firewood to the flames, he asked "You said that the Brightwood Circle helped you?  Is that why you chose to become a Druid?"

The Tabashi continued looking at the fire but his ears trained in on the Human. "Becoming a Druid is a calling... it is not a matter of repaying those who helped me."

Arthur smiled at that, glancing past Faelyn toward the tents. "That sounds like my boys.  I told them they could be anything they wanted, but they decided to learn the family trade and work the forge with me."

The Druid nodded. "Ah.  Yes.  The others told me that Harold's Human father was a shaper of metal in a Human town."

The blacksmith nodded. "I am-- or, was, I suppose... and they learned my trade, but I always encouraged them to seek their own path too, which is why Harold took an interest in the woodlands, and why Peter found his path to Hieroneous."

Faelyn's eyes finally settled on Arthur. "And why your littlest has chosen the path of the arcane magic wielder?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't suppose that's something any of us could foreseen... and, from what I understand, Maeryk is responsible for that.  He kidnapped Lucas and... and did things to him... things I still don't know about because I don't want to ask... but, Kord help me, I can only assume how horrible it must have been."

The Tabashi's eyes returned to the fire. "He is a strong one, your Kobold son.  Was he that way before the defiler took him from you?"

"Yes.  Always."

The Druid looked back up, offering the faintest smile, accompanied by reassuring words. "Then you should have faith that he is as he was before, but awakened to a new part of him that would have existed even if not tortured by whatever the Defiler subjected him to.  I know what it is like to have an awakening, and they are unpleasant even in the best of times..."

The discussion from there meandered to various topics, but ended up circling back to Faelyn, who discussed a little more of his past, explaining what it was like learning how to be a Druid from the circle, and uncovering his talent for changing shapes.  While most Druids had the ability to take on the form of a handful of animals, the Tabashi was, for whatever reason, limited to the form of a saber-toothed cat, and he didn't always have control over when it happened.

Ultimately, as he finished explaining, he frowned. "Which is why they felt it so important to send me to learn with Eristhe... as a Shifter, if I cannot control myself then I could easily become as dangerous as a Therianthrope."

Arthur paused at that word. "Therianthrope?  Is that... like a Lycanthrope?"

The cat man rolled his eyes.  "A Lycanthrope is a kind of Therianthrope, though your kind uses the term for any of a number of individuals who can take on multiple forms and, whether a curse, a disease, or naturally born, they are more than just wolven shape changers-- which is the meaning of Lycanthrope."

Taking the correction in stride, the blacksmith circled around back to the more personal discussion. "So you were learning how to control your change from Eristhe?"

Faelyn shook his head.  "No... she was teaching me healing magic... restorative mana gifted by nature.  She told me that understanding the flow required to heal is the opposite of the emotions that lead me to change my form without control.  I am a Shifter, and a Hunter, but I must have balance in my life, and so my magics are focused on non-hostile actions such as healing and protection."

Arthur smirked. "And helping to start campfires."

Faelyn's eyes focused on the softly rolling snow-covered hills ahead.  Although his gaze was miles distant, his voice was there and in the moment.  "You are a very strange human, Arthur Smith."

The blacksmith smiled just a little at the statement; it was the first time the cat-man bothered offering anything close to a value statement.  Arthur wasn't about to let it go, not when actually getting Faelyn to open up a little was on the line.  "Oh?  Why am I a strange human, Faelyn?"

The Tabashi, who had taken his bow from where it rested against his seat fidgeted with his bow string, running two padded fingers along the line as he worked some oil into it to keep it safe from the cold weather. "You are strange because you actually care."

The statement made Arthur pause, and he sighed. "I'm sorry to hear you say that."

The Druid's ears raised at that, turning to regard him. "Why?  Was that not a compliment I provided you?  You seem to value caring."

"I do."  Arthur nodded, "But I'm sad to think it's an exception among my kind.  People SHOULD care... humans most of all."

Faelyn scoffed at the response, but the edge of his muzzle twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile. "Ah... well, I shall not fault you for the rest of your kind."

Hearing the sound of his boys rising, he kept his response simply.  "Thank you."

* * * * *

The trip in total took just under three days and, by the time they were back into settled lands the level of exhaustion was starting to wear on Arthur.  The rest of his party were fatigued but, he could tell, their youthful vigor definitely did far more for them than his force of will did for him-- that, and Lucas spent the vast majority of the trip riding on Peter's shoulder.  Either way, the blacksmith was thankful when they arrived at a cobblestone highway; although it apparently hadn't been cleared since before the most recent snowfall, it was a welcome sign that they were nearly to their destination.

A new concern arose in less than a league.  As the group drew closer to the stone walls of the impressive city of Draven, Orvig, who had been providing rear guard, moved closer to the blacksmith before speaking quietly "Arthur... I am concerned about something..."

Still striving to maintain their pace and knowing he wouldn't be able to regain it if he slowed, the Human turned for a moment to regard the Orc. "What's wrong, Orvig?"

Arthur hadn't yet recalled a time when he'd seen his green skinned companion truly ill-at-ease socially but, in that moment, the blacksmith knew something 'uncomfortable' was about to be said.  He wasn't wrong.  "Sir Wasker doesn't know that I am an Orc."

That statement caused the Human's stride to break, and he came to a halt.  "He doesn't?  Haven't you met Sir Wasker before?"

Orvig nodded. "Yes, but it was on the field of battle when he and Lord Asler were commanding their troops in unison during a raid on a bandit camp.  He knows I was adopted, but he doesn't know I am an Orc."

The blacksmith wanted to ask if that mattered, but he wasn't naive enough to actually carry through with it; of course it mattered.  He had spent over a decade with his sons learning just how much the general populace disliked non-Humans; they would tolerate the occasional Elf and Dwarf coming through town, but the people of the land had a natural aversion to non-Humans, especially ones who were distinctly different.  Arthur tried a different approach. "I know you haven't been wearing your helm, but perhaps--"

The Orc shook his head. "No... if I am visiting as a member of the Asler court I would have to take off my helm once we were in the castle.  Forgive me for not having thought this through earlier, but I--"

A hail from up the road interrupted their discussion.  "HO THERE!"

Arthur looked in that direction only to see four men astride horses trotting toward them, the light snow on the path having muffled their hoof beats.  The four of them were dressed in mail and their horses wore light barding; they each had a shield and a jousting spear, indicating that they were likely scouts rather than an attack force.  Presuming they were a patrol watching the lands near Draven, Arthur stepped forward to greet them. "Well met, gentlemen.  How are the roads between here and town?"

One of the two men at the head of the four looked down from his saddle at the blacksmith. "Clear of trouble, but still covered in snow-- the shovelers only make it out this far every so often and they're not due back for another day."

The other rider in the front, most likely the commander due to the fact that his helm had a plume in it, addressed Arthur next. "We don't often see such a... varied group on the highway.  Your name, point of origin, and business in Draven, sir?"

The politeness was only superficial and it wasn't hard for Arthur to read into the inquiry: the guard wanted to know why a Human was wandering the road with a bunch of 'monsters'.  He kept his response polite.  "My name is Arthur.  I am a blacksmith from Hearthbridge."  He carefully phrased the rest of his statement.  "I come at the behest of the Asler family-- Traven Keep has been attacked and Sir Wasker must be warned."

The four horsemen looked to one another and the two in the rear murmured back and forth but the Captain only nodded. "We have heard as much... and the others traveling with you?"

Arthur didn't bother to glance back at his companions. "They are my sons, Sir.  I adopted them as orphans and have raised them myself.  You are welcome to question them, if you wish-- I assure you, they speak Common."

It was almost humiliating, but the blacksmith kept his pride in check; he knew that humanoids had a hard enough time in Hearthbridge around people who knew them and he didn't want to push his luck in a city where they were all outsiders.  To Arthur's surprise, the Captain's response was much more even-handed. "Then perhaps they will be kind enough to provide their names to me themselves?"

Everyone present did just that, although Arthur noticed Peter giving both Lucas and Harold an elder-brother-death-gaze to make certain they didn't say or do anything 'inappropriate'.  Fortunately they didn't.  When it came time for Orvig to introduce himself, however, he faltered, especially when the captain raised an eyebrow and repeated the name back. "You said 'Orvig'?"

Arthur interjected, quickly speaking up. "Yes, Sir.  Named after Sir Asler's great uncle.  I have a great respect for my lord."

Orvig had explained the origin of his name to him previously and the blacksmith did respect his lord thus both statements were true, though technically unrelated.  He offered a follow up smile to the captain.  "And you're the patriarch of this rag tag group then, Arthur?"

Offering a hearty nod of his head, Arthur motioned to his sons,  "Yes, Sir.  Those three were orphans when I found them," he then reached out and slapped a gauntleted hand onto one of Orvig's pauldrons "and I took this fine lad here under my wing after his father passed.  Orvig Smith."

The blacksmith had never been a fan of lying, and all of his statements remained true, but Orvig's stoic expression almost slipped at the final comment.  The guards apparently didn't taken note and the captain nodded to the rest of them, lingering behind his men only long enough to say "Lord Wasker doesn't appreciate trouble, but, so long as everyone behaves, there's no reason not to welcome you to Draven.  Have a good stay, gentlemen."

The group started forward the moment the guards left and Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  It took him a few moments to wind himself back up at the prospect of walking along the road into town but he pressed on nevertheless.  His delay provided Orvig enough time to get ahead of him, at which point the blacksmith froze anew, stunned by what he saw: the magic shield provided to Orvig by the Druids had previously displayed the heraldry of the Asler family but, before his eyes, the etched, chiseled symbol changed to that of a smith's hammer.  Orvig looked back to him, and smiled.  "We're nearly there.  Come on... Father."