Tansy of the Wilds

Chapter Nine

Stillness fell over the camp, the kobolds fell into an instinctive silence as they perceived the tension in the air, emanating from the orc. Xer'tal's intense gaze remained glued to the direction of the rustling, his sturdy frame taut with readiness. The eerie peace of the moment was abruptly broken by a thunderous crash of brush and leaves. Emerging from the undergrowth, staggering clumsily into the firelight's glow, was a figure that made Xer'tal's grip on his weapon tighten reflexively.

The figure was a hulking orc, twice as ugly with his piss yellow eyes and uneven tusks. Scars traced his skin, each one a testament to a battle survived. His lips pulled back into a sneer, a wicked glint in his eyes as he dragged his axe behind him.

"Drok," Xer'tal growled, rising swiftly to his feet with a look of deep-seated animosity. He knew this bastard, he had run-ins with him before. He wondered what in the great hells the orc was doing so far out of his usual stomping grounds.

"Drok, the Blooddrinker," Drok declared, his voice echoing in the hushed camp. Though his tone was steady, the danger in his voice was palpable. "Piss ant orc, not worth his tusks." The orcish was brutal as it left Drok's mouth.

Xer'tal shot a quick glance at Tansy, hoping she grasped the full weight of the situation and stayed put. Securing his powerful grip on his weapon, Xer'tal stepped in front of Tansy, creating a solid wall between her and the menacing intruder. He couldn't deny, the prospect of a fight settled him. He knew fighting, he knew what it made him feel. He felt like he needed that to settle his bones.

"May I ask what it is you require?" Tansy peeked out from behind him and Xer'tal resisted the urge to push her back. The naive little human. "Perhaps we can provide you with assistance for what you need." Xer'tal was distinctly aware of the kobolds reaching for weapons. He knew the situation was volatile, especially as Drok narrowed his gaze at Tansy.

"Stay behind me, woman." Xer'tal's growled whisper interrupted Tansy's offers of hospitality. Drok was formidable, a force to be reckoned with. Xer'tal knew it. He had firsthand experience of his brutality. His scar-ridden visage was a testament to countless fights, countless victories, and a fearsome reputation that followed Drok like a haunting shadow.

But Xer'tal wasn't afraid. He'd never been. He'd faced down wyverns and scaled treacherous mountain peaks. He'd stared death in the face and spat on it. A brutish orc, regardless of his reputation, was nothing compared to the terrors he'd faced.

The kobolds' unease was contagious. Their tension ratcheted up the pressure, but Xer'tal remained resolute. His duty was protection, and he wouldn't falter.

"I wasn't planning on coming out from behind you." Tansy said it quickly and she stayed firmly behind him. He appreciated that at least. "He's a mountain orc, isn't he?" She peeked out from behind him again and Xer'tal watched as Drok's head swung to look at her again. "I met one. He came down from the mountains for a whole cask of birch sap. His tribe was sick and they make medicine out of it. He actually told me how to make it, very interesting process." Xer'tal could barely respond, the damned woman was rambling again and Drok was staring at her, confusion slowly growing on his ugly and scarred face.

"His name was Chief Rak'droc. Very polite man. He washed the dishes I gave him for food and told me about his tribe and the mountain and how they are all shades of grey to blend in with the stone." Tansy spoke quickly, as if the words were in a hurry to escape her and Xer'tal resisted the urge to groan. "So that's the reason I say he's a mountain orc. He's got grey skin." She pointed to the other orc and Xer'tal resisted the urge to shoot her a look.

Yes, Drok had grey skin and yes he was a mountain orc but that was beside the point.

Xer'tal all but rolled his eyes. Of course Tansy would start going off on a tangent about trees and saps and mountain orcs in the middle of a potential fight. The woman was absolutely mental. He sighed inwardly, wondering how someone so guileless and trusting could survive in a world fiendishly intent on extinguishing innocence.