Fantasy Brotherhood: Hidden Shields

[Hyydra]

​

Upon the cobbled road did the orc trot his horse, hours on end proving the steed a mighty ride. He was comfortable as it was, a sword sheathed on his left hip, a greatsword upon his back, a spear continuously held in his right arm. But such weight felt like nothing for those of the rock-blood. Mighty were those who were bred in Theranox, raised in the most challenging of kingdoms. For barely was it considered such. Had such a title been claimed only to glorify the only other race intelligible enough to be considered humane. If it were up to the rest of the world, especially those elves, they would be what they've always been called: Savages.

Some time earlier that day, when one fell as the other rose (Otherwise known as Midday) had he trotted alongside the path near Eranov where the commotion was great, the people crazed. Curiously did that orc leave his horse, his towering figure marching to one of the guards, and with a powerful voice as he looked down, spoke with concern: "What troubles thy commoners, guard?"

And then would Mactovak of Theranox feel gratitude for this crisis, that for once a racial slur was not hurled at his stature, that no ill words would poison his conversation, no matter how small, between a guard and he. With quick plead had the guard spoke to the orc, looking to his eyes as he did. "The king's daughter has gone missing along the east path towards Koriksgauld!" With that sentence had the knight successfully captured a desperation within Mactovak that could possibly had been greater than his own. A desire for peace between the two, and not just guard and knight, but between fang and tooth. Between flesh and hide. Between orc and man.

The warrior's heavy feet pounded against the cobbled road, his fangs bared as his exhaled and inhaled sharply through his mouth, his eyes aflame as he barked in annoyance, the wind biting his eyes as he hurried back to his horse. From there had he rode until a quarter of the day has passed, allowing the second son to rise as the other began to set. And just around this time, as his horse eventually demanded a longer rest between sprints, had he spotted a ransacked fortress. At that moment had a small collection of thoughts crossed his mind. Why had she been travelling to a simple trading city? Unguarded at that? Was she even guarded?

A tattered flag glided roughly through the wind as it stood atop the highest elevation upon that fortress. An entire wall was gone, which was then seen as the only entrance and exit, two guards standing on either side of the gaping flaw, the bricks piled over the natural entryway. Upon a 50 foot difference had the orc dismounted his horse and shooed it off, marching forward with ease, spear lowered in hand, his left arm twitching for the moment to pull out his greatsword if that was the needed instrument during this time.

Aether1

 

[Aether1]

​

"Damnation!" Maria hissed through gritted teeth, mentally holding back the surge of pain that rocked through her body as she hit the ground with an audible thud, casting the air from her lungs. The bandit responsible for gross mistreatment of royalty sporting a leering, sadistic smirk, his eyes roaming over the woman in a most unsettling manner.

"When I'm free from these chains, I promise you a slow death." A deep voice growled from beside her, Warrick's eyes flaring with rage at the display unfolding which he was powerless to stop. With knuckles white as bone, Maria half expected him to tear the chains that held him captive asunder, and for good reason; their party was massacred, many brilliant men, butchered like cattle in moments as the bandits set upon them from all angles. Even outnumbered, the outlaws would have been butchered in an open battle, alas they cared little for honor. She'd been so confident they would be the ambushers... The plan was simple; to pursue the bandits to their stronghold, and dispatch them with silent efficiency, before finishing the leader in a trial of single combat. Not one of the Guildsmen suspected for a moment the bandits were aware of their approach, which begged the question; how did they know?

"Well, well, well... What have we here?" A gravelly voice pondered viciously, heavy footsteps approaching the captive from behind. "A princess, playing at war?" He jeered, amusement obvious in his voice as his eyes roamed the masterwork plate that Maria wore better than any ball dress. "Your father will pay me his treasury for you, if he doesn't; you're going to wish you were never born..." He started slowly, trying an intimidation attempt far too hard. In a flash of anger, the man turned and backhanded the Princess viciously, bloodying her lip--she'd hunted rabbits with more bite than him. "You spoilt little brat!"

Maria remained unfazed by the hostility, had she not been in so precarious a position, she'd be inclined to roll her eyes, maybe even yawn. It was more favourable to have the brute believe his words, than realize the Princess was doing anything but playing at war. Warrick however, didn't have her common sense, he opened his mouth to speak--likely an insult rolling on the tip of his tongue that would end his life--only cut short by the sharp, commanding glare the Warmaiden shot him.

"My father will send guards, and you'll all die, just you wait, savage!" Maria retorted in a forcibly-noble tone, offering the exact response one would expect from a captured Princess. It was either that, or hapless sobbing, she preferred the first option. "Aye, he'll send guards, with boxes of gold." The bandit boss paced forward now, his eyes scanning the arrogant faces of his various followers, all gathered around like moths to a flame. "If he doesn't, I'll send you back to him in pieces; after my men have had their fun." Maria averted her eyes to the ground, mentally counting down for the arrival of Thromar and the second War Party, to arrive. The Guild always traversed in two groups, precisely for this very reason; if one group fell, the other group could avenge them, or in this case, rescue them. However if her second didn't hurry whilst they had the element of surprise, they'd need to lay siege to the fort; that wouldn't end well for anybody, least of all her; The Guild was equipped for open combat and infiltration, not assaulting highly defensible positions.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Silence seemed to cling to nature's embrace, great lengths of green covering the forest from the sky's view; perched on the forest's edge, did the rescue party liger. Not the King's--the Warmaster's Guild--not for the Princess, but for the Warmaid. "To the North, War-Chief," the Veteran Cain spoke, hand outstretched to the sight of a lone orc approaching the encampment. "Is he one of them?" A hunter asked, bow raised. He was of course, referring to the bandit sentries positioned by the fort wall ruins, clad head-to-toe in Eranov steel, a disguise to dispatch any glory-seeking mercenaries wishing to play white knight to the 'damsel in distress'. The looming orc was one such example.

Ocean blue eyes squinted at the unfolding scene, as a large brick-like man outstretched his legs; Thromar of the Northern Tribes, 'Warlord' of the Warmasters Guild--or so people thought--very few knew that the Princess of Eranov spoke through him, to them he was the mastermind. Nobody had cause to doubt it, why would they? He was the most acclaimed member of the Guild to date, a living legend, even among the entire country--perhaps further. Thromar stood mighty, unmoving in his fable like an enchanted sentinel. He is an unyielding shield for all aspiring Warmasters to measure themselves against. "Enough waiting," Said Thromar impatiently. "The King has hired assassins to get the Warlord back by now, I don't need to explain what happens if they arrive before we're gone."

Without another word, the giant slayer walked from the forest's edge, a large spear in-hand; with a great heave he pulled an arm back, before launching his spear into the skies, poised to strike the oblivious bandit; the weapon spiralled through the air, travelling over the plain before embedding itself in the bandit's chest, a clean strike through the heart. The second bandit was offered little time to form a reaction as before he could even move an inch several arrows pierced his body, from throat to back, blood oozed from his wounds. The man slinked to the ground whilst helplessly grasping for air, out of reach. A dozen more men--responsible for the pincushion--exited from the other side of the clearing, new arrows notched and now expertly trained on the orc.

"Hold!" Thromar commanded, noticing the Berserker-like attire the travelling Warrior sported, this was no bandit, nor a common mercenary. Berserkers were said to be great warriors, then again, Maria was said to be a naïve child wanting to play soldier.

No matter, berserker or not; Time was fleeting, the bandits would not stay in the Keep for long, the commotion over the Princess' capture would be over, soon and they'd return to manning the walls and stone towers, locking down the fort as a defensible base of operations. They needed to be dealt with before such an opportunity could be presented. "Turn around and walk the other way, orc. There's no business for you here." Thromar commanded bluntly, eyes narrowed and nerves on edge.

 

[Hyydra]

The orc would look to the scene with astonishment. In a matter of seconds, over. This warrior was one to be reckoned with, surely. And then the bows were drawn, a fire lighting in his eyes as he felt the worst feeling one could ever feel: vulnerable. Seven arrows, he imagined, heading straight into him. He soon calmed, realizing that these could not be bandits, no. He would've been dead if that were so. But where he did have quarrel was with his words, telling him to leave at this moment. Not in an eon. The berserker dropped his spear as he marched forward, his arms hanging at his sides as he replied to the mighty man.

And as he marched forward would they truly understand the might in this lone orc. This 'berserker' would be now seen to be more than some royal orc. But much more. His height was above all else, standing at least seven feet tall, his muscular build that of a God's. As he marched could his thighs push out from his battle skirt, lifting up every now and then to show either the dedication or genetics of his people. His shoulders hung, however, as he wished to remain a friend, rather than a corpse. As he marched forward he spoke.

"I have no quarrel, warrior. I am here for the princess." He spoke with eagerness, looking to the man with confidence he could respect that. Most likely they would be surprised with his words, as not many orcs were known to speak their tongue that fluently. Quickly had he stepped, however, to be the first to walk through the entrance, surprised to see no one in the court. His right arm lifted up and grasped upon the handle of his greatsword. At that moment, with his back to them, would they see the barbaric blade he wielded. Going down to the orc's knee, it was nothing more than a 12-inch wide blade, jagged teeth continuous along both sides of the sword, the center of the very top cut out, making a snake tongue of sorts, rather than the traditional single point. However, the orc did not pull his sword out yet, simply letting his arm hang as it was, looking with caution around him, feeling as if it were a trap.

Turning around to face the warrior, Mactovak looked confused. Shouldn't there be a blood-showering battle waiting just on the other side of the wall? He truly felt as if he were about to be slaughtered, but soon paid it no mind. The thought of a group of elite warriors behind him made his entrance much more comfortable. Marching up the stone stairs had the orc dropped to one knee, an ear against the door ever so gently. He heard speaking. Five voices. Little could he have sensed the sixth being simply standing there. His hand was below him, hanging next to his foot as with his fingers he gave the number of people on the other side of the door.

From there he looked back to Thromar, giving him a not as his jaws clenched mightily, a growling building up. From there had the beast gave out a roar, a perfect imitation to that of a lion's, kicking down the door as he grasped upon the nearest warrior to his right, ducking out of the entrance back outside as he held the warrior by his collar bone in the air. He shouted, in fear or pain, Mactovak could not tell. But that did not stop him from taking his other arm and grasping upon the opposite shoulder, and with a mighty roar tearing the human in half. He wore hides and a leather belt, which snapped like steel to ice. After the body fell, his 'friends' could see a true battle face, now painted with blood and rage. Turning back around had the orc pulled out both his greatsword and his shortsword, impaling the warrior who charged out swiftly, his orcish metal piercing through the chestplate and into the warrior's ribs. The berserker then stretched his left arm outwards, along with his right, deep kicking the warrior straight into his chest, sending him back into the room with the others.

From there, he was a mere whirlwind. Leaping into action, clashing sword with sword, knee with blade, spinning around a hundred times, stabbing, slicing, slamming. He was a true monster, an easy example of why his kind was so discriminated. They loved combat. With the last warrior, the sixth that he had failed to count, in his left hand, he lifted him into the air, staring at his hand as he panted heavily from the battle, his breaths heavy and powerful. The warrior kicked at him, hitting his jaw and chest a couple times, making the orc snarl, but after a few seconds of watching the tendons in his forearm, the orc quickly face a furious jerk, snapping the warrior's neck, dropping the corpse as he kicked the body away from the entrance, waiting five feet from it so his allies may have an neat entrance. For the most part.

 

[Aether1]

The Princess? Thromar thought, relaxing his muscles ever so slightly. So the orc wasn't a misguided warrior, he was here by intent; and fluent in Eranovia, to-boot; the King would never hire an orc to rescue his daughter, this looming brute could be a promising addition to the Guild; or at the very least, some welcome support in the coming conflict. As heavy footsteps pit-patted throughout the dirt covered ground, the Northern-born man cast his eyes up at the orc, unfazed by the height difference; the Vangarli was a towering man, standing proud at six and a half feet, but with a physique to rival even the most veteran acclaimed elven blademasters. He was widely regarded as the pinnacle of human potential within Eranov, not that he seemed to notice.

"Cain, remain hidden. If the Kings assassins arrive--Kill them." ordered without a moments hesitation, journeying forward in tandem with the newly-acquainted berserker. The finely-crafted greatsword, woven with spiked-edges like the teeth of a great dragon glistened off the shining sunlight, earning the admiration of the Northborn warrior. As no member of the hierarchy in place, the brazen orc took lead towards the ancient Keep; great structures of stone and wood, degraded into nothing more than a glorified pile of rubble and timber. Eyes roamed the surroundings as steady footsteps etched forwards towards the keep door, until without any tactical finesse did the orc smash through, casting out the idea of a silent approach.

Lazily, did the man upheave his runic battle-axe, engraved with the markings of a line of heroes; it's silvered skin battered with a lifetime of war. yet today, the axe had no cause for feast, he'd heard tales of berserker's many times throughout his travel; but only now did Thromar realize the stories were not exaggerated, standing behind the orc--unmoving in his vigilance--did the Warmaster's blue orbs roam the orc's body, his moves and form, analysing his every action with masterful precision. An impressive display of power, but sloppy and undisciplined.

"Not bad... For a savage." Thromar complimented with a grin, casting a glance to the unfortunate man who'd been tore asunder by the blood-lusted beast. Thromar was of the northern mountains, he was as savage as any orc if the Eranovians were to be believed. "Come, your blunder has lost us the element of surprise... We take the fight to them."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Maria's eyes roamed up at the distant shout of alarm, masked only by a blood-curdling scream betraying an assault on the Keep. Warrick's eyes flared hungrily, lips curving into a sadistic grin as pale-faces filled the criminal crowd. "How?!" The leader howled in anger, turning to the prisoners with hatred in his eyes; yet fear settled into his cheeks. "You're going to wish for death before the end." The man snarled in her direction, raising his sword as the motley crew of brigands formed a pointless mass of cheap weaponry, like ants bracing for a stampede of chargers.​

 

[Hyydra]

Thromar spoke to Mactovak with a language forgotten by the orc. Compliment. Jest. As he breathed heavy he also brought upon his face a manic grin, his jaws parted, revealing bloodied teeth as well, his husks more prominent the wider his mouth opened. One could even argue they heard a chuckle. But alas the orc soon understood what he preferred anyways, that the best option now was to charge into battle. And so he would, finding to his right a set of stairs. Sheathing his blades for the moment Mactovak lifted up an axe and a sword from the fallen warriors before him.

He marched up the stairs with his weapons loose in his hand. He carried them only to hurl at his enemies at this point. He held no value to them like he did his personal equipment. He halted, noticing the large opening without a doorway, turning around to look back down to Thomar. At this moment, he did not want to lose his life blindly rushing in once more. This time they were prepared, like his mighty companion had said.

Turning back up to face the opening, the orc slowly turned his face into the opening, noticing the handful of warriors facing him. No archers, however. That was what he hoped for. The beast was crouching, making it seem as if he was average height, until he walked further forward, turning to face them with his arms hanging. His chest rippled as he flexed, his adam's apple in the center of his throat large and pushing out, like he swallowed a stone. At this moment could the blood he earned dry against his body, revealing more detail in the light.

The tendons in his neck were flexed constantly, as he was beginning to growl, his face baring teeth now. He was hoping for his comrades to meet him soon enough, before he combated the more organized squadron. His stomach area revealed his brownish skin color indeed had marks, a gash in between his pectoral muscles, stretching down to the center right of his stomach. Though man has pink scar tissue, his own was green. The beast looked to them with a great hunger now, the waiting turning to impatience as he flexed his legs, stomping forward as he threw his arms back, roaring like a monster from tales at night to scare children at the group of males.

During his time of waiting, however, his mind races with fantasies. Dark fantasies, of course. He craved violence so much that he did not recognize the princess in that very same room. No, his attention was to his enemies and his enemies alone. He imagined throwing one to the right, stomping another to the floor. Dancing around with his swords like he had a moment before. Of course, acting upon those inner desires would mean nothing more than death. So he made the intelligent decision to wait, and provide the fantasies he craved together, with his newfound companion.

 

[Aether1]

So they gathered, like sheep lead to slaughter; faces white with terror, the bandits nerves rattled like wind rushing through stray leaves in the dust. Maria's face twitched into a gleeful smirk, as a looming orc of unfamiliar appearance marched into the clearing; dozens of eyes fixed on him, chiselled body coated in crimson; droplets of red pooling the ground beneath his feet. Had Thromar found a new recruit?
"Death comes for you, dogs!" Shouted Warrick with a laugh, earning tense silence in response; Maria offered no reply nor look, her eyes trained for her dearest ally.

Thromar's feint figure unshrouded from the shadows cast by ruinous stone, his eyes meeting with her own as he let out a respectful nod--one she returned in kind--the warrior's form relaxed as he hefted the spear overhead, eyes roaming the pack of bandits who stood in the wake of an oncoming conflict.

Then she saw it, overhead, a feint shadow cast; resplendent in the suns empowering gaze--they'd scaled the walls--not a moment too late, hails of arrows washed through the ranks of bandits leaving squeals and gurgles in their wake, unguarded and unprepared, chaos seemed to envelop the Keep in a tight grip. More men, glistening in the proud armor of her clan, jumped down from all angles, charging in a frenzy of planned death. The bandit leader found no words, instead he turned with fire burning in his heart. Eye's wide, Maria gasped as he raised the sword to take her to the grave with him; his planned execution only halted as Thromar's spear buried through his leg, causing the man to cry out in pain, the sword slipping through his fingers.

"This one's yours, Princess." A Warmaster spoke from behind her, placing a dagger in her palms as Warrick received similar liberation; yet his fingers twitched for blood, the moment his hands were free of the bandits chains he ushered a war cry, claiming the leader's sword and charging into the massacre. Maria decided to linger in the moment a while longer, taking her time to stretch and feel the motion in her unrestricted wrists.

Maria exhaled at the fresh air, ignoring the bloodbath in progress and all the screams it entailed. Bending her knees slowly, did the Princess lower down to the incapacitated leader--forced to his knees by Thromar's spear--then she spoke; "You really should have killed me while you had the chance..." She whispered menacingly into his ear, before the dagger plunged into his side, the bandit let out a yelp, his hands attempting to grip her throat--the blood soaked dagger tearing into his ribs not once, not twice, but three times, before she stared him in the eyes a final time. Raising to her feet, Maria the man a simple push with her foot, allowing him to bleed out among the stones--to be forgotten like this very ruin.​

 

[Hyydra]

A simple stomp. His opponent's center chest caught under his right foot, which did not cease to press down upon. A pair of lungs filled with the scent of dried as well fresh blood. A large tongue escaped his maw, tasking what freshly painted his lips. Looking down to the warrior, panic filled his prey. He could feel it, in his foot the heart pounded against with much plea. But such a plea would be ignored. The orc's jaws shut, his tusks proudly protruding as he looked into the face of his opponent, hearing a crackle of his back. At that moment did a panicking, repetitive shout occur, as he witnessed the orc lifting his right arm slowly, unsheathing his greatsword.

The heart beat faster, the snap felt from his left ribcage. A shout of pain, soon replaced with the adrenaline as he slammed his fists against the shin of his successor. But not for long, as his breath was fading. The orc proudly slammed his fist into his left hand, holding the sword face downwards. The tongue did not face sideways, to catch his throat to decapitate him. No, it faced along the bandit's nose. And with a raised upper body, the back muscles of the beast were seen violently flexing, a shreak soon silenced as his blade cracked open the skull of the victim. At that moment had Mactovak truly finished his combat there at that time.

Calm breathing soon followed, the bodies falling slower and slower as fewer men were standing against them. Lifting up his own skirt, the beastly orc swiped his blade against his sentimental pieces of leather, soon witnessing it as bright as it was unsheathed. Looking to Thromar, he nodded, sheathing his sword. Captives awaited questioning, for him at least. The orc marching his way forward, his feet against the cold, bloodied stone. "Where has the princess been taken to?" The orc stupidly questioned Maria, his eyes of concern and major interest. It was at that moment one could understand that this orc's concept of royalty was always with large, ridiculous clothing, along with pointless jewelry.

Looking to Thromir, he sensed he was missing something. And at that moment had the knowledge slammed into him like a mighty warhammer. He looked her in the eyes, with a flash of respect forced upon himself. A hefty step backwards, dropping onto his right knee as he unsheathed his shortsword with his right arm, blade into the ground as he let his head hang, staring to her boots. "My Thuri, my royalty.." He looked up to her, a troubled face. Why was she in armor? "I... I have come to... rescue, you?" His statement turned more into a question. He did not expect her to be battle-ready, taking a life only a moment ago. So from there, he remained upon his knee, waiting for a result.

 

[Aether1]

The echoes of battle died quietly, like faint echoes retreating into the void. Discussion and laughter began to fill in the silence, the mood flowing high after a job well done. Warrick stood grim-faced in the corner, his eyes betraying sorrow--he'd lost friends today--they all had. Thromar cast the man a glance of concern, but offered no comfort as he walked forward, dragging his spear from the now lifeless corpse of Maria's captor. With a hand on hip, she smirked at the older man. "What took you so long?" She asked in jest, causing Thromar to fold his arms; she could see it on his face, that dutiful struggle between sticking to his stoic persona, are indulging the Princess with humour of his own.

"Hunted some rabbits for dinner, wouldn't want the Princess going hungry." He replied with a straight-face, features threatening to split into a grin, though against all odds he kept his composure. Preparing to play along with the oh-so-common nobility jests predominant in the Guild, did Maria open her mouth to respond--only to be cut off by the orc she'd witnessed before the bloodbath--an inquiry as to where the dainty Princess was. A mercenary?

The question however, did not go unnoticed--as several men within earshot burst into amused laughter--silenced only by a hard glare from Thromar, who instead furrowed his eyebrows at the orc. As if realizing his error, the foreigner proceeded to take a rather... undignified approach, bowing down to her in some sort of gesture of divine worship. Much to the orc's dismay, would the Warmasters once more break out into jolly laughter, where even Thromar's fierce eyes could not quiet their mocking amusement.

Maria however, stood motionless, eyebrows raised in confusion; she was thoroughly stunned as to what on earth was happening. Why was the orc treating her as some sort of all-seeing deity? "Silence!" Thromar bellowed with the power of thunder, the immature commotion dying before his powerful echo could end. "On your feet, warrior." Thromar muttered stoically, tapping the orc on the shoulder with his the shaft of his spear, stone-faced and disciplined.

The Princess looked from the orc to Thromar several times, unsure on which to address first. She was inclined to ask her guardian who the orc was, and why he was here, but it appeared the towering beast said as much as she needed to know already. "Rescue me?" She asked in amusement, locking eyes with the orc. He must be an independent mercenary--one with great power--aspiring to rescue the King's hapless daughter, a damsel in distress, in order to reap an Emperor's Bounty as payment for her life.

"Thromar... is this a.. new recruit?" She asked the male hesitantly, warrior-or-no, patches of nobility still remained within her. Indirect speaking was one such flaw. "No," Thromar answered, "He arrived as we did. A berserker from the North." He finished with a respectful nod towards the orc, acknowledging the prowess berserkers were so fiercely known for. "Killed six men single-handedly." He added on with a shrug, many of the surrounding Warmaster's exchanged glances,quiet mumbles rippling through the gathering. They were clearly impressed. Thromar remain resolute however, Maria herself was certainly impressed, which is why the lack of an impression he gave almost made her question him.

"I see..." She muttered in understanding, before folding her arms as her curiosity only grew. "So, orc, why did you want to rescue me?"​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc did not know why, but the warriors around him found his title hilarious. Looking with confusion before he had knelt, Mactovak was worried he had used an incorrect term to describe who he was searching for. Thromar's frown to him soon made him realize, however, which then caused his hurried nature of respect. But that second time, that second time he knew why they laughed. They found him pathetic, a measly servant to someone he found higher than himself. His jaws clenched as his hair fell to cover his face, that of hatred boiling in his veins as he imagined-

He was tapped upon the shoulder. A swift, attention-grasping tap. On his feet. Hurredly the orc sat upon his ankle, sheathing his sword and raising himself. His chest puffed out as he looked down to the two of them, his arms at his sides and his shoulders pushed back. He took a formation of military posture, that perhaps they knew, perhaps they hadn't. She locked eyes with him, and for a moment, something strange occurred. He found.. comfort. Comfort in a warm duo of warriors, of invulnerable people, capable of respecting him past his tusks, past his flesh. He nodded to her reiteration of what he had said, remaining silent until given another chance to speak.

Thromar looked to him, he nodded at him. A shiver rushed down his spine that he gently reacted to, nodding back with a heavy imitation, as if attempting to emphasize the returned gesture of respect. This was something he did not wish to lose, respect, that is. Looking to her, now, as she took in this information, she spoke to him again. His arms dropped slightly more, raised in front of him as they moved with his speaking.

"I come from the North-" His left hand upon his chest, body turning to the right as his right arm stretched outwards, palm into the air and fingers spread out, as if presenting something. "- I am a noble warrior from my home, Theranox. I travel past your home, heard of missing king's daughter. That is princess, yes?" He looked to her, nodding confused. "We are people of peace, we are good people." He spoke, his hands coming together in front of him, his left hand taking the same position as before in front of his stomach. However, this was some strange symbol, as his left hand clasped onto his hand, curling its fingers around the palm whereas the bottom hand's fingers pointed out. "I came to show peace, and bring a feeling of respect for us."

With that, he realized he had been inching towards her the more he spoke, taking a step back as his right hand reached up to his greatsword, letting his arm hang in that position as his other hand rested upon his shortsword's hilt. He awaited a response, his eyebrows softened as he spoke, looking to Thromar once more with a quick glance. At that moment would she realize his eyes were a powerful, amber-blazed glow, showing true passion and nothing less.

 

[Aether1]

"An envoy?" Maria questioned, almost shocked. "From Theranox?!" Though unintentional, her words were wrought with disbelief; as if she believed orcs incapable of anything but war ever raging, spreading death and suffering to the furthest corners of the globe through use of unholy monstrosity's and a ferocity most unnatural.

The surprise in her tone was palpable, to the point were Thromar took a single step forward; palms together across his chest in an imitation of the orc's gesture. "The Lady likes to forget sometimes, that I hail from the Vangarli mountains." The man interjected acutely, giving Maria a hard--almost scolding--look which caused her to avert her eyes to the floor in shame, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. "They're said to be wrought with barbarians and savages, where it's people bathe in blood and eat human flesh. It is my home. And they are lies."

Maria let out a quiet breath, raising her eyes to the orc once more, forcing herself to stand a little straighter, as she peered up to the towering figure. "Yes, of course... Forgive me, I did not mean to offend, nor to judge your people unfairly." She apologized with honesty, her glance wavering to Thromar once more, who acknowledged her words with the faintest of nods. "So you represent Theranox as a diplomat? Well, saving the Princess certainly couldn't have harmed your chances of success..." The woman mumbled faintly, sarcastically talking a little more to herself than to the diplomatic warrior. No matter the rumours surrounding his homeland, the presence of a noble Eranovian-speaking orc, acting as a Theranoxian envoy in the name of peace, told a story opposite to those of any human-make regarding Theranox.

Maria didn't doubt the his truth for a second, nor suspect any ill-intent on the orc's behalf; those eyes showed a patriotic passion that she'd never seen before, he truly wanted peace; yearned for it even. The untamed lands of Theranox had forever been seen in a most horrid light by all nations of the land, never before had they secured peace--most were even unwilling to trade with the orcs--which is why his presence here was so much harder. A dark look crossed Maria's face as she steadied her breath, "Then... I'm sorry to say, but you're journey here was a waste of time..." Thromar shifted on his feet at the words, almost as if he could hear the sentence she was about to spew; disapproval etched into his face like carvings into a stone. "My father won't negotiate with an orc... He's..." With deep thought, she rolled several words around in her mind, before sighing once more and straightening her posture.

"He's intolerant of your people." She finalized awkwardly. Words couldn't describe how understated her comment was, if it wasn't for the Merchant Princes benefitting so much from the trade with Theranox, her father wouldn't waste a breath in expelling them from the realm.

"There is more ways to secure peace than you're father, Maria!" Thromar chastised, earning an angry sneer from the Princess in question. "Now is not the time, Thromar. Save it for when we return!" She snapped back, causing the man to exhale in frustration. The Warmasters looked on in silence, the trio having their rapt attention.​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc did not feel hurt, from her words of surprise. In fact, he felt enlightened, hopeful. If she was as shocked to see he came with hand open and arms stretched, how would she react to wishing betterment between the two? He quickly kept to himself once she apologized, realizing that responding would not be the best decision, as it was a simple misconception. But he just as easily snapped his ears back into listening.

Then she spoke again. What he heard, he could've argued he hadn't. Until she spoke again. His face grew from hopeful, to losing faith. His eyebrows dropped, his bottom lip sagging, jaws parting as he listened to her reasoning. Then Thromar leapt into the scene, barking back against the princess' conclusion. She quickly dismissed the reaction. And from there, from there he truly did see a kinship between himself and the human from the mountains. Looking to her, he stepped forward once more, a right hand launching out and grasping her bicep, as if pleading for her ears.

Looking her dead in the eyes as he spoke, his voice was filled with desperation. "Then do not aim for peace-talk!" The last time he attempted to pronounce 'negotiation' he looked a fool. "Let you return with only the knowledge: Orc saved you!" His eyes widened, aflame with the idea. "He cannot say no to what he has not disproven." The orc's grip was firm around her bicep, which he soon looked to and realized, chucking his hand back with a grunt as he stepped back, looking to her face. "If he does not wish to speak to me, let him at least hear of me."

He looked to Thromar with a plead in his gaze, as if hoping he would understand that now would be an opportune time to support his concept. "I will flee to my mountains with this news, that we have hope!" He barked out quickly. From that last statement, he would only stare at her eyes, into them, to her soul. Speaking from one existence to another, he wished for compliance with this last statement.

 

[Aether1]

As the enormous arm moved to grasp the woman's arm, the sound of notched arrows interrupted the otherwise gentle breeze, undisturbed by the movement, the flight of barbed-arrows only halted by a raise of Maria's other hand; Thromar himself made no move towards the orc, understanding the desperation and the apparent lack of court etiquette. There was a certain irony and gripping the same royalty one worshipped no minutes ago.

Maria shifted uncomfortably, both at the notion of trying to deceive her father and the tight grip the orc obliviously held; Thromar was deep in the residence of his own mind, already drilling over the orcs suggestion. "The plan is sound." Thromar grumbled at a glance, turning to face maria with calculated precision. "You're father will be suspicious; you, captured by bandits, rescued by the Warmasters Guild, there are already rumours." Thromar explained tactfully, "How long until he starts suspecting?" He muttered again, this time turning to the orc. "Claiming the Theranoxian saved you preserves your cover. Our cover."

With a huff, Maria crossed her arms to face the two giants when compared to herself. Doubt lingering in her mind, nothing was in-place to stop the orc blowing their cover, and spinning the tale of how he chanced upon the Warmasters Guild valiantly fighting for their commander--Princess of Eranov--clad in masterwork steel. On the other hand, the envoy seemed genuine, orcs weren't known for dishonesty, no that was a human trait; it'd be foolish to expect an orc to act upon greed, unless it involved bludgeoning someone to death. Theranox politics are so much simpler... She thought.

With a resigned groan, did the Princess slump ever so slightly, shaking her head in disbelief. "...Fine, but it's not going to get you anywhere." She warned the envoy, ultimately agreeing to the plan; though not without hesitation. "Don't say I didn't warn you." The Princess glowered towards both Thromar and the orc, the former of which sported a triumphant hard-grin. "You're brother will approve, Maria." Thromar eased out slowly, as if trying to reassure the agitated woman. "My brother would approve if you brought a Cyclops into the city gates!" She spat out, a mass exaggeration of course; but she wasn't in the mood for sentimental reassurances. This was a terrible idea.​

 

[Hyydra]

"Wait.." The orc halted their speaking rather quickly. His eyes frowned as he stared to the two of them, then slowly twirled around to understand what was going on. These were not hired men to save her. No. They spoke of cover..? Cover? He eventually slowed to a halt, facing her again with a finger pointing straight to her. "The king knows not of your armor?" He questioned with dumbfoundedness. His lips were parted once more, his tusks try on the outer side, swallowing as his throat was starting to compare.

"That means..." He looked to Thromar, gasping as he finally realized what was occurring. He wasn't a go-to hero for her common rescues. She knew him, because they were shield-brothers. "..I mustn't speak of this, then.." He looked to them both, realizing at this time that he had never truly given them his name. Placing his right hand upon his center chest, he spoke with pride and glory. "I am Mactovak of Theranox, son of the great Chieftan Thorok." At that moment, especially to those from the mountain, should one be surprised by such a title.

To others, Chieftan was who controlled a tribe, a village, a town, sometimes. But in orcish tongue, Chieftan was king. And that would entail, with the mighty name of Thorok, that all knew, that he was the son of the king of his kingdom. With a title like that, it would be explainable on why he seemed so gifted physically and skillfully. Simply because he was privileged enough to have been born into the harshest of training sessions.

But to those who knew more than just the king's name, would then know the heavier meaning of that king's offspring. That would, in fact, mean that Mactovak of Theranox was more than just orc. That would, in fact, mean he carried the blood of Giants.

 

[Aether1]

Maria gave the confused envoy the sweetest smile she could muster under the circumstances, "Indeed Mactovak, Son of Thorak, the King does does not--and must--not, know of my armor." She stressed, earning an amused grin from Thormar. "Is that any way to speak to the Prince of Theranox?" The man jested, now it was Maria's turn to be dumbfounded, instead her eyes darted from orc to man blankly. "Typical of your father to leave orcs out of your education." The man spoke with a disapproving grunt, turning to face the Princess once more.

"Now's not the time for a history lesson, but in orcish lands, Chieftain is King, not to be confused with the likes of my people, where there are many Chieftain's, each ruling over a separate tribe." Thromar educated, allowing his eyes to examine the now-noble orc once more. Maria blinked several times, trying to process the influx of information her mind was forced to gobble up. "So, the King of Theranox, sent his son to Eranov, as a diplomatic Envoy to... broker peace?" She repeated in turns, still somewhat overwhelmed by how much had happened--was happening even--in the space of a single day.

After a moment, a conflict set in; Maria was speaking to orcish royalty, did she act noble or remain plain? Orcs respected strength, but she already wore the armour--it could be disrespectful if she wasn't to acknowledge his nobility--yet at the same time, he was an orc. Orcish royalty was hardly similar to the realms of humanity. As if sensing her frustration, Thromar too the opportunity to intervene. "Thromar of the Northern Tribes, the Vangarli mountains to those unfamiliar."

Maria, taking his obvious example, followed suite with a more formal introduction. "As you already know, I'm Princess Maria Rowe, firstborn daughter to Edric Rowe, King of Eranov, and Overlord of the Southern Realms, and lower Vangarli Mountains..." Maria finished with a consierate look towards Thromar, she made a mental note to apologise to Thromar later, again, on behalf of Eranov. They'd conquered much of the Vangarli lands over the years, the constant assault pushed the various tribes to unite under a single Chieftain, self-proclaimed the 'High Chieftain of Vangarl'.

"Forgive my bluntness, Prince Mactovak, but we really must to be on our way, lest the Crown's forces discover our presence." The woman bid farewell, signalling for the men to prepare for the journey back to the Capital.

"You are welcome to join us Mactovak, Son of Thorak." Thromar's voice glided through the air, as if assaulting Maria's ears. She winced slightly, realizing she should have been the one extending that hospitality, she was not showing herself in a respectable light.​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc looked to him with a gracious smile, a grin of true entertainment as she seemed to lack the knowledge of who he was. Soon, however, when the gears ground, and she realized what was truly meant, a chuckle came from Mactovak, looking to Thromar. Looking back to her, as she questioned his interference and how it came to be, he quickly changed faces to that of an urgent calming. "No, no! My will is of my own.. I have been, searching for someone.." He soon looked to Thromar, his fist pounding against his center left breast as he nodded, dropping his arm back to his right as he responded.

"I should've assumed such. Your peoples' glory is a rather approved scent." He complimented, grinning softly. He would lie if he ever were to say he did not admire those who came with him from the Norther mountains. Such hardships the people through those rocky teeth have had since their very existence in this realm. Either way, he would not trade it for anything else, as that was how he truly came to be who he was.

As the princess introduced herself, he once again gave the gesture of respect, his right fist to his left breast, a strong nod to her and a millisecond later, back to his comfortable stance. And then he would hear her way of departing. The orc closed his eyes and nodded slowly, understanding that she was unlike he. He was one capable of roaming freely, whereas a human daughter of royalty may have other responsibilities to flee to.

But at that time as well would Thromar have invited him to travel, which he would most graciously accept. "It would be an honor to travel with you until I must depart, Thromar and Maria." He responded almost instantly, a second of thought before making his mind. At that moment had more than enough hope been restored in the Chieftain's son. He marched proudly alongside them, but as they exited the castle, and took afoot outside of the walls, the orc sprinted forward, past them all, whistling what would've been ear-piercing had he not ran a good 40 feet away. Galloping towards him was a horse, appearing as a pony the moment Mactovak mounted it. Riding back to the group, he looked to the two of them, wondering if they had horses. If not, he made the simple gesture, taking off of his saddle and offering Maria his horse for the time being.

However it occurred, they traveled together, walking along the cobbled road that he previously was on beforehand. Remaining quiet for a while, the orc finally spoke. "...Others of your kind have called me Mawk, as my name is too long for combat." An offer. An offer of more than just alliance. Of friendship. In no other way would the orc have offered that tiny, useless piece of information to them other than to show welcoming arms to them both. "Thuri, I must ask you." He spoke, looking to the princess, or warrior at that. "Has an elf, very peculiar, ever came through your castle? He is white as snow, his eyes bleed, and he wears that of silver armor. I look for him, and this is how I learnt of your strife." He spoke hesitantly, obvious for them to sense he was sparing details that needn't said.

 

[Aether1]

As the party made their way outside the fort's deep walls, Cain and his hunters emerged from the cover mother nature so delicately afforded them, each man joining Maria and Thromar in staring at the orc charging off down the pathway, bewilderment etched onto several dozen faces--until a sharp whistle sounded through the trees--piercing enough to send the birds who nested within the confounds of the forest into rapid flight.

The pieces of the puzzle clicked together as the heavy echo of hooves upon dirt resounded through the trees further down, before a horse--young as it was beautiful--approached the orc with loyalty. Maria raised an eyebrow, casting her eyes to Thromar who in turn, gave her an 'I told you so' look. It appeared the rumours that orcs devoured horses and travelled about the lands on bloodthirsty boars were entirely unfounded.

For a moment, Maria stood alongside the Warmasters, motionless towards the orc; until his action finally clicked into her mind, a brief stutter overcame the Princess, on the one hand, she was a warrior who put herself alongside her men, why should she hold a horse, and they be denied that right? Such a notion grew more convincing still, when one weighed the fact the orc who offered it was royalty himself. Yet even so, her body ached, her muscles tired, and her eyes grew heavy; there wasn't much room for declination after being on her knees in plate armour for nearly half a day. As if to affirm her decision, Thromar gave her a subtle nudge with his shoulder, emitting a faint sigh from Maria's lips.

"My thanks, Mactovak." The Princess replied on gratitude, bowing her head slightly before leaping upon the well-trained stead, hiding her pleasure at being able to actually sit down for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Initially, she had expected the Warmasters to grumble, but many gave nods of respect to the dismounted orc, clearly approving of his decision to part with his horse for a time.

Bright rays of sun stretched across the great expanse of land before them, the party travelling in peace and comfort, basking in the warmth that the great orange eye granted them; the singularity of song filled the fields, as men celebrated victory and life, each person a brother to the next. It wasn't skill which made the Warmasters Guld so strong, it was the strength of family that acted as their unyielding shield, a strength which could not be broken--would not waver--for trust in the man beside you was more powerful than any sword-arm. Bird song melded with the joy of man in a display of harmony, of beauty; and in the midst of serenity, did her new orc companion speak.

The meaning of the second introduction was, as expected, lost over Maria's orc-societal skills, or lack thereof. "Mawk?" The woman repeated, pulling a hesitant face at the assigned nickname. "Sounds like an Ogre's name, Mac is far more fearsome! Wouldn't you agree, Thromar?" The woman commented in a semi-sarcastic manner, most inappropriate for addressing royalty, orc or not. Which earned her a slight scowl from Thromar; if the Lady was being disrespectful, she certainly didn't realize it.

The topic changed from one of perceived insincerity to genuine concern, Mactovak's voice tinted with vast curiosity and desire as he inquired after a very specific description. "I'm afraid not, elf visitors are rare in the capital, if one came through with the unique appearance you describe, I'd remember. Nothing gets of interest gets by the Guild." Maria answered politely, her claim affirmed by Thromar's nod.

Formerly bright skies turned dull and grey, singsong and joy deteriorating into grumbling and discomfort as a grey swarm devoured the shining sun, opening up the sky to unleash a cascade of transparent hail, assaulting the earth like a volley of endless arrows, amplified further as great purple streaks charged across their heads like vengeful dragons, leaving a booming crack in their destructively awe-inspiring wake. "Welcome to Eranov..." Maria complained with a frown; the weather here was like a bag of gold; Always changing hands.​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc frowned at her statement before he asked of the elf. Not due to insult, no, but pondering. Was there truly a form of intimidation to come from a shorter pronunciation? He seemed to ponder that for a moment after she denied any identification of the fellow. A sigh escaped the orc's chest before he could stop himself. Obviously he was looking for him for some time. "Well, if there ever is such a being, please do inform me."

He had traveled to Eranov few times in his young life. But even in those days, had the orc never seen hail in those lands. Let alone had Mactovak ever seen hail at all, the sudden chunks of clear ice alarming him instantly. The orc shouted, leaping back in a stance as he soon realized what occurred, his face weirded as he looked to his arms, his chest, finding the event awkward, mesmerizing.

His face grew soft, jaws parted as he eventually looked to the skies once more, the sight of it all shocking him immensely. Hail, he would soon learn to call it. Slowly he took steps back to catch up with the other two he marched with. He looked to the skies. "... this is nothing like my home.." He finally spoke, his face in wonder, though his mouth closed now.

Eventually, he would look to see the castle in the distance. From there, the orc tensed. A slap upon his thigh signaled the horse to trot around, facing him sideways. "I apologize, Thuri. I must leave now." He looked to her, a fist upon his center chest as he lowered more of his body this time, moving to do the same to Thromar. As he would wait for her to dismount from his horse, he looked to those around him, the warriors he had clashed with. "It was a prilivege." The orc said, softly grinning, not knowing he had mispronounced the term in hopes of impressing them. Hopping onto the steed, he looked to Thromar. "Until we see another again." He nodded, turning to face Maria. "Shall you ever need me, I can be found along the paths towards the Broken Crag near sunset." He stated firmly, nodding his head to the enormous rock, like a thumb upon the horizon, split in two.

And with that, he shouted, his horse vanishing after a few minutes of sprinting out towards the mountains. Their weather had always been so secluded, so secretive in his lands, that none could ever truly know what hazards existed over there. But what they could know now, was that there wasn't hail. Nevertheless, the orc rode with a grin upon his face, staring ahead of him with glee as he galloped over the plainlands.

Perhaps, one day, this would be the beginning of an end to prejudice. Perhaps one night, he could ride through these towns with knowing that it was he that first clasped hands with man in greeting rather than meeting. Perhaps one day, there would be an end to the eyes that gazed upon his people with such hatred.

But perhaps not.

 

[Aether1]

The sun's gaze burned overhead, enveloping the area in serene warmth, equitable to a hot spring after a tiring day. The vast city of Merdiyne, the crowning jewel of the land, it's magnificence unrivalled. Great towers reached up into the sky, the walls loomed overhead in a show of ferocious power; proudly bearing the banner of Eranov--of King Edric--her father. Further still did the grinding of cogs fill the street, vast networks of pulleys and lifts connected various key points within the capital.

"Is this really necessary?" A Princess' voice broke out, her lips pursed into a fine line, whilst hesitant eyes lingered upon the extensive mass of human bodies before her. The market place was awash with commotion, the echoes of merchant's haggling and gold jingling drowned out the sound of bellowing salesmen. The woman's arm was perched on a single hip, her figure dropped upon one leg as she turned her gaze to the southern sky. A sigh of desire fluttering from her mouth, thoughts of the Guild almost overwhelming. It'd been nearly two weeks since she'd last found opportunity to slink off to the Warmasters Guild.

"You know it's necessary." A familiar voice chirped back, the knightly-lord-to-be walking with an arrogant swagger. "Father afraid I'll be waylaid by bandits again?" Maria said with a roll of the eyes. Sporting a splitting smirk, the man turned to the Princess with eyes ablaze with a knowing stare. "Or afraid you'll run off again, take your pick." He uttered with a light shrug, causing Maria to glare angrily for a moment, before sighing in resignation. "Fine, let's get this over with..." She complained ghastly, scrunching her face up in obvious discomfort as the duo made their way through the swarm of hungry merchants and eager buyers.

"That's the spirit!" Her brother chimed, unhelpfully, as per usual.​

 

[Hyydra]

However, as they would travel through the endless crowds of commoners, a strange commotion would exist like a fog among the people. If they cared enough, they would notice people walking towards them looking back with faces of worry, dread, or disgust. Sometimes comments would arise from such people, like, "Filthy pig." "What's that doing here papa?" "Is it going to strike?"

At one point did a female squeak in horror as a taller figure walked into her accidentally. Turning back around would the orc narrow his eyes, only to shoot his head to the left, seeing the princess. His face grew to that of shock, gasping as he turned and lowered his head, hurrying through the crowd with force as well swiftness. She was not supposed to know he was here. This was a complication.

Of course, no complication to her. It was not her grace he searched for. For a strange reason had he continued to travel to this kingdom to search for the figure he'd spoken of before. But as of right now, that was a secondary mission. The primary was to escape the visual clutches of she who had already known him. However, as this occurred, and he attempted to flee, guards would soon be weary of this behavior, marching towards the orc with shield and sword equipped.

 

[Aether1]

"A lot of excitement in the bazaar today." The Prince muttered casually with a gesture to the nearby commotion. "Excitement?" Maria questioned sarcastically, not catching the meaning of his sentence. "It's dreary." She replied in an exaggerated drawl, causing the man to shake his head. "No, the people. They seem... agitated." He noted calmly, gaze roaming along the panicked crowd which seemed to grow more restless by the moment.

At second glance, Maria understood that his words rung true, casting her brother an inquisitive look that pleaded 'let's investigate'. "I suppose we really shouldn't be late for the welcoming..." Maria said slowly, insincerity plaguing her tone. She was of course, referencing the visit from several Mavendock envoys, bearing gifts and trinkets, as a show of good faith between allies. "Damnation with that! I hate these things as much as you do." Her brother complained, and with good reason; he was often the focus of these sentimental visits.

Though she'd never admit it, Maria was far more fortunate than her brother--the Crown Prince--when it came to courtship, for months now the poor man was locked into a union with the Princess of Mavendock, their father, Edric, was of the mind that only royal blood of "significant divinity" would enter his bloodline--which exempted anyone who wasn't a King, fortunately for Maria, King Braum of Mavendock had no sons.

"Dear brother, are you suggesting we accidentally get lost in the commotion, unable to reach the meeting until late?" She asked in mock disbelief, as if shocked at the proposal. He merely shrugged, feet already heading towards the concerned crowd of traders. At the duos approach, the various mutters of disgust turned into whispers of gossip and admiration, the large body of people forming a makeshift path for the nobility to approach. Whilst Derrick dazzled the crowd with his ornate, patterned armour, forged by dwarven smiths and imbued with complex golden embroideries, Maria was left with the undesirable role of charming the public, an extravagant mix of the finest silk and most expensive fabrics, hugging her figure in the form of an extravagant silver gown, engraved with embroideries which put Derrick's own impressive golden hues to shame.

By the King's Order, Derrick and Maria were always supposed to be escorted by a contingent of guards; unfortunately for the King, Derrick had the full support of the city guard; they kept watch from a distance, but without a steady escort on-hand, King Edric knew no different. "Who do you think they're staring at this time, you or me?" Derrick whispered to Maria, the woman stifling a small chuckle. "Whatever the City Guard caught has us both beat." She said with a non-committal shrug, finally emerging from the sea of warm bodies to catch sight of several of the Guard, surrounding an abnormally large orc who appeared to be trying to flee the scene.

"Hold! Beast!" One guard yelled, already pointing his weapon forward in a threateningly close manner, he was going to attempt to stab the orc--who had since stopped running--the discrimination in Eranov was rampant and sickening. "Stay your hand man!" Derrick called out, marching forward with a disciplined General's stride. "Mi'Lord, this monster was charging through the stalls, a thief, a violent murderous thief!" The guardsman protested.

Then Maria let out a barely audible gasp--her mind capturing the features she recognized as none other than Mac--eyes wide in surprise a uneasy feeling settled in her stomach, and with a brazenness must don't possess she stepped forward with force, "Are you a complete and utter fool?" She questioned harshly, arms on her hips in a position of arrogant nobility. "How dare you insult a Warmaster!" She bellowed out with a shrill cry, causing gasps and murmurs to fill the crowd. The guard's face paled significantly, looking as if he was about to collapse. "M...Mi'Lady... Please I... I had no idea he was with the Guild... his armour..." The guard meekly protested. "His armour is most likely at the Guild, where he was most certainly charging off to!" She chastised in all the glory of a typical spoilt Princess.

Derrick watched the situation with acute sense, his keen mind connecting the dots; Thromar had told him of the events not a month past. "You will release him at once!" Derrick ordered, the various guards instantly backing away. "We will see you escorted to the Guild for your trouble, Sir." Derrick beckoned, both pairs of royal eyes fixed on the orc with untold intrigue.
​

 

[Hyydra]

Seven. Several guards within an instant. However, the struggle beforehand would've caused it all. The orc noticed one of the knights ahead of him, standing tall as he pointed his arm out, hand pushing against the air in front of him. "Halt!" Shouted the knight. But all the orc had done was switch directions, his right arm shoving the female towards him as she yelped, hurrying forward. "Stop!" came out another knight's throat, chasing him easily due to the path the people allowed to keep there for them to swiftly catch up to the berserker.

Turning around, the bravery the guard had soon shot down as they made eye contact, a charging hero staggering back with widened eyes as he saw the face of the beast. "B-By order of the..." The knight turned his head to his left and right, expecting for some reason the orc to stay put where he was. Strangely enough, he did, staring to the guard with a raised eyebrow, a face of confusion displayed as well. As they stood there, what Mactovak did not understand was that the guard was buying time. But what he did see was the other guards circling around him, barking out orders to the civilians to clear the area. And like sheep to the pence they fled with utmost loyalty.

Then he saw the weapon. That moment was decided, his eyes aflame as his face turned to a snarl. His right arm loosely hid behind his body, as he was preparing to swipe at the man. But soon, he realized, there was someone else to save him. He did not know whether to be happy or upset at this time, but looking to Maria, he surely felt uncomfortable. His eyes were widened, his mouth in a circular shape as he looked to the scenario that had taken place. Warmaster?

The orc turned to look all around him. Faces of horror, surprise, all shocked by what she had just said. The murmuring only ceased when the royals spoke again, snapping his head in their direction to continue hearing whatever other magical words she had to say. The other male- the boy, a brother? A lover? He could not tell, but he held just as much, and if not, more, power than Maria at this moment, causing not one but all of the knights to retreat. Looking around at this, he looked back to the male, his face closing as he nodded his head in panicked gratitude.

Derrick's last few words were soon to cause panic in his eyes. They were moving him? No! He had a trail to follow. But as he looked to Maria, something in his being calmed down. He realized that there wasn't another safe option as of right now. Apparently, the 'Warmaster' had to travel to his quarters, and attain his armor of sorts. So from there, the orc froze, waiting for whatever was to happen happen.

 

[Aether1]

Though his hesitation was clear as the sun's shine, Derrick was able to coerce the large orc into cooperation, the trio now setting off on a brisk walk in relative silence, discomfort evident as the curious residents of the overpopulated Bazaar continued to gawk, some at the huge beast of an orc, and others at the royalty whose outfits alone were worth more than the entire market combined.

Moments of silence stretched into minutes, minutes became eternal, and nobody spoke a word as Maria and Derrick continued to lead Mactovak on in oblivion. The former bustle of merchant's crowing soon faded, making way for the calmer--but no less crowded--main street, Maria and Derrick shared a smirk, their eyes turning up to a towering building, guarded by a steep row of steps and surrounded by a large training ground. The Warmasters Guild.The guards immediately made way, the Royalty climbing the stairs eagerly, both ensuring Mac was still in pursuit.

Approaching the entrance, the Lady made an obscure gesture to the old scholarly looking clerk, who nodded with a beaming smile, leading the group to the far edges of the bright-lit interior of the structure. A glorified tavern in all but name. Every man present bore the look of a true warrior, race had no burden here--only warriors--some aspiring farmers, others veteran soldiers, from the occasional elf to likeminded orcs. The Princess broke the silence as they reached the corner, "I apologise for dragging you off, but it was the only way to make the story believable." She muttered in apology, gesturing for the orc to take a seat.

"The King's spies are everywhere, this is the only building where the walls don't have ears." Derrick affirmed with a nod, but failing to take a seat. "As interested as I am to learn more about the Prince of Theranox, I fear we've overstepped our boundaries..." Derrick's face fell, leading to a slight frown as he let out a defeated sigh. "I should make my way to the welcoming, make your own excuses for your absense." her brother warned hastily, his words bearers of truth; their actions had certainly drawn great attention to them, it would be dangerous for them to remain within the guild together; luckily for Maria, should had a reputation for running off and hiding here.

As Derrick took his hasty leave of the duo, Maria stared expectantly at mactovak. "This would be the part were you explain your presence in the capital, Son of Thorak." She asked in a rather serious tone. It was rather obvious from the earlier display that whatever he was doing didn't involve diplomacy as an envoy.​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc continued along with them, his face showing signs of impression as they entered the grounds of the Warmasters' Guild. Staring around, he was indeed impressed with the stronghold he set foot upon. This was definitely a fading fashion he could see around his homeland. He could smell the masculinity and adrenaline that had been exhausted upon the training grounds as he marched by them.

The inside was no different. If anything, it wreaked more of the scents outside. They marched together, and he would soon be commanded to sit. With much respect, as well gratitude for her heroic effort a moment go, he sat down upon the chair, hearing the wood cry to his weight. Was that snapping? He could not tell, but as of right now he kept most of his weight upon his ankles as he sat, back straight and leaning forward slightly.

Then the other left, quite quickly. It seems to be that the orc had interrupted something important? As Derrick departed, the orc wished to speak, his eyebrows raised as he readied himself to speak. However, his chances soon crumpled to her sudden interjection, his face growing insecure as he looked around, then back to her. She wished to understand why he was here. So he cleared his throat, looking to her with a face of defeat. After all, she was his friend, of sorts, right?

But as she titled him, his face frowned mightily, his bottom jaw sticking out, his tusks seeming to pop out from his bottom lip. "Thorok. Son of Thorok." He corrected stirnly. His face softened afterwards, an apologetic glance before he continued to speak. "..I am searching for someone. An elf. Skin of snow and eyes of blood." He waved his right hand over his face twice, then resting it upon the table. "I've spoken to you of him before. I must find him. The last seer I'd spoke to said I would meet him here, in Eranov." He looked around the guild hall, then back to her as he leaned in.

From there, he grew very secretive with this last statement. Something that he obviously did not wish to let the others hear. "Have there been any elves within the Warmasters? Any at all?" He questioned, his thick eyebrows softening and raised, his eyes staring into her own. Indeed, his intentions were still trying to hide, but his reason to be here was as clear as day, as it was before.

 

[Aether1]

"...Thorok." Maria muttered with an apologetic smile, her knowledge on orcish was lousy. It would be in her best interest to press Thormar for tutelage, but that could wait, right now she was negotiating--or conversing--with a Prince of Theranox, somewhat illegally at that. Such a thought lit her eyes with amused irony, oh how the King Edric would react at the gallivanting of his children.
With hesitantly raised eyebrows at his question, Maria took a slight breath. Casting her eyes about the room apprehensively, she'd always pushed the boundaries of the sanctuary that was the Warmasters Guild, this was no different.

"There are elves, within the guild. But none of your description, Lord Mactovak." Though negotiation was all well and good, it didn't suit her image to rat-out her own people. Prince of Theranox or not, she had a duty as the Guild's Warlord to uphold the honour of all her members. "If you're looking for someone, here in Eranov. I can report it to the Guard, I can get them hunting this blood-eyes elf. If you wish, Derrick could even employ help from the army. Or, if you want the best..." Maria finished, her hands outstretched, gesturing to the surrounding area, the boasting of adrenaline-fuelled warriors and clanking of flagons reverberating off the wooden interior of an otherwise towering stone keep.

Though it was as clear as the vast expanse of clouds across the sky, that Mactovak did not wish to give his reasoning; Maria was inclined to press the orc for answers anywhere, not because of her duty as a Princess--but her duty as a Warlord--a blood-elf, with skin pale as snowfall sounded ominous--if not threatening--she had to know. "Mac, why are you hunting this elf?" Maria questioned abruptly, her voice wrapped in gentle-friendliness but also carried by the stern command of a warrior.​

 

[Hyydra]

The orc heard her words to some extent. As she offered him his options to aid him within his quest, his mouth closed, his body retracting from her like a leech to salt, shaking his head with saddened result. "I'm afraid this must remain silent. I ask you with small sacrifice, nothing to be seen. He is intelligent, he is manipulative." He looked around, to the guild. Perhaps? No, no that was not a safe play. He would much rather begin searching once more by himself.

Then she asked him.

Her voice attacked him with sudden guilt. His eyebrows softened, his bottom lip sagging, his face just, plainly growing more sorrowful. He sighed, looking to the table, then back to her, as he spoke. "I cannot tell you. Doing such would result in my honor stripped: To take my own life." His hand clutched his right breast like a talon grasping upon his heart if his ribs weren't there to defend it. His face grew more stern, his jaw clenched. "I only pray he does not get wind that you know me now."

With that, he began standing up. Once he was, his chest puffed out like a proud cock, his shoulders back and chin raised. His right fist pounded against his left breast and remained there, halting. "Hail, Thuri. Until we meet again." And so he marched, walking straight to the door, looking around as he did so. However, if she did choose to speak, he would merely ignore her, for he already gave his depart, and therefore could not speak to her.