"We won't have Lady's cannon fire at the camp," Adendé spoke out, his arms moving effortlessly back and forth against the paddle; so effortlessly that Mikey and Lazarus had to take the other side of the rowboat to keep up with him.
"We won't need it. We'll be fine," Mikey replied, his eyes to the ship as they rowed with their back to the shore.
"Probably not a good idea to summon Lady unless you need to. We don't want anyone in the camp getting suspicious," Lazarus suggested to Mikey, looking over his shoulder briefly to be heard clearly.
"You guys must think I'm an idiot," Adendé and Lazarus momentarily looked at each other, before continuing to row. Mikey cleared all the gunk in his nostril before he spat it into the water.
"When we arrive, let me do the talking," Adendé warned them as the rowboat had began to scrape over the stoney bed.
When the boat could float no further, the trio jumped into the shallow water and made their way to the bank. With Adendé leading, they arrived at two men standing over them.
Savagely dressed, one had strips of leather and skin from what could pass as that of a human's - or some other humanoid. The other had bone strapped to every limb, almost creating an external skeleton for himself. Both were littered with scars and old wounds, even missing a few fingers.
Adendé looked up to them from below, silently glaring as he waited for them to move. They did not.
Faster than a strike of lightning, Adendé grabbed the ankle of the bone savage and pulled him down the side of the bank. Falling on his rear, the moment the savage's feet touched the water a flash went off.
Krakoom!
Electricity surged around Adendé's fist and, in a streak of light, went bolting into the face of the savage. A wave of thunder clapped from the strike, sending chunks of meat flying as Adendé splattered his head against the bank.
When he pulled his fist from the savage's head, the bone littered body fell lifeless into the water.
Lazarus looked away, though a rolling fear pushed its way through his nerves.
Mikey did his best not to vomit. Despite having been in countless street fights and witnessing a couple of brutal accidents, this was his first time seeing someone killed so vividly.
"Do we speak the same language now?" Adendé asked aloud, kicking the limp body across the water as the shore had adopted the blood's red tint.
The other savage, with the skin and leather clothing, stepped to the side to allow the trio a comfortable amount of space to pass.
"Good," Adendé replied to his silence, climbing up the bank and onto the grass.
Lazarus followed behind him, before reaching down to help Mikey out of the water, his leg still weak from the serpent scale.
As they passed through a clearing made by the hordes of savages, Mikey couldn't help but look at each of them with a balance of intimidation and fascination. Their weapons and clothes were all mostly tattered but had a mix of origins. He saw pauldrons and gauntlets from Kyberian knights, the robes and cloaks of Des Maronian scholars and mages and then, always, bones and leathered skin wrapped or tied to at least some part of their bodies.
He tried his best to identify some of the races of men and women but struggled to even do that. There were orcs of many sizes and colours, goblins weaving mischievously through the crowd, scarred men and women all battle-hardened from the savage lands and even the occasional beastfolk, who were amalgamated with the most deadly of animals.
As Mikey followed behind Adendé, he dared not speak out of fear of initiating a challenge to one of these battle craving warriors. Lazarus was much the same, though he lacked the same intimidation Mikey was trying to hide.
"Adendé Mirioka," a bellowing, guttural voice ushered as the trio approached.
The group approached a larger, circular clearing. He stood at its centre.
Towering over smaller houses, perhaps big enough to reach a couple of storeys higher, the red ogre bared his teeth down at the approaching trio. Adendé, who was already huge, found himself more comparable in size to an ant than the red creature.
"Ya've grown na talla since last wa met," the ogre spoke out, standing his log of a staff into the ground. He then sniffed a few times, turning his head towards Lazarus and Mikey. "Did ya bring a few snacks which ya?"
"War chief La'Qashur," Adendé put his right hand to his chest, before bowing forward. The hand still had blood dripping from the black glove, lightly staining his robe when he bowed. "No. They're employers. One of them has a few questions."
"Questions? Talking about that boy 'ere then, aye?" he used his staff to gesture down to Mikey. "Got something simila he and I. What's ya name boy?"
Mikey opened his mouth to speak, though Adendé spoke over him in his place.
"We'll talk somewhere more privately, war chief," he spoke out, rapidly drawing La'Qashur's attention back to him.
"If ya couldn't kill every one of ma boys out here, 'ey'd have jumped ya by now," the war chief taunted, straightening his posture. "I'm talking to tha boy Adendé, mind ya manners."
"Mikhail Drewitt, war chief. An honour to meet someone so exhilaratingly barbarous," Mikey placed his hand over his chest, though didn't bow like Adendé did. Instead he kept his back straight and chin high.
"Mikhail, funny name that is," the ogre turned away from Adendé and looked down to Mikey.
"Ya got some'ing for me Mikhail? I hope ya do," the war chief asked as he gripped his staff tight, anticipating disappointment.
"The eight-headed wolf shares the eyes of seven," Mikey replied swiftly with a generous level of confidence. Lazarus and Adendé both gave Mikey a puzzled look, lacking understanding behind the phrase.
"Well, isn't that interesting, aye?" La'Qashur slid his foot around and began taking rumbling steps further into the plains. "Bring 'em ta camp boys. We've got guests for dinna,"
As the trio approached the camp, following behind the monstrous war chief, they garnered the attention of every being or creature in view. Tents and huts were scattered around in a mess organised only by respect. The larger tents were more spaced out from one another, whilst the smaller ones were congested in select areas around camp.
Everywhere they walked, however, huge pots of boiling stew continued to bubble in cast iron. Warriors wandered past these stews dumping whatever they had in their hands; they generally added meat or bones, but it was often hard to tell due to the colour variety.
"Boila." Adendé said under his breath, just loud enough for Mikey and Lazarus to hear. "You'll be in for a treat."
Eventually, they entered an area bordered with a mixture of large and small rocks. The grass had been pulled from the dirt within the border, leaving a muddied foundation for the largest hut in camp.
La'Qashur made his entrance and the other three followed.
"Here is ya privacy Adendé, enjoy it," the ogre thundered forward towards an enormous loose pile of bones. Certain areas had been crushed and compressed, forming a large throne big enough for the war chief - which he promptly planted himself in. "Why ya here Mikhail?"
Adendé looked to Mikey with an affirmative nod that it was okay to speak.
"Adendé said you could help me. I don't know what this mark is or why I have it or what it has to do with my parents… but apparently, you might," Mikey began to explain, though slowed his rambling when he saw the ogre growing bored of his speaking.
"You know what 'ey call us round here, Mikhail? Ironheadz. Hardest heads in all'e plains. But we've got some idiots annoying us from up top. Take care of a few of 'em and we can talk," the war chief suggested as he began to twirl his pillar-like staff between his fingers. "Also, have ta take my son, Buggro."
"Why?" Adendé asked in his characteristic, emotionless tone.
"Because he's my son, but he's shit weak. Might as well be a prancy snow walka," the ogre sighed in embarrassment, stomping his staff to the floor. "Buggro! Get ya ass here now!"
The pittering of dirt outside the tent, as well as the jingling of chains, announced the entrance of a flimsy and slight goblin. It had a red skin tone, much like the war chief, but it was definitely more goblin than ogre otherwise. It had silver chains wrapped and clipped to both its armour and skin all over its body; some of the chains had a spearhead attached at the end.
"Fatha! Nice to see ya again fatha! Whad ya need fatha!?" the little goblin, about two-thirds the size of Mikey, began to call out to the war chief.
"Dis is ma son, Buggro. His motha was a goblin, as ya can see. Wonderful gobby she was, heart of a horse," the ogre held a dreamy smile as he looked up to reminisce. "Dis one howeva? Useless ol' bugga, 'ats why his name's Buggro."
"Awh fatha! Don't say 'at fatha!" the little goblin began to plead.
"Ya bring him back a betta warrior, or leave him 'ere for tha hounds," the war chief commanded, not batting an eye to his sorry son on his knees.
"Thank you, war chief," Mikey nodded, before turning and going to leave, Lazarus following after him. Adendé remained in the hut, looking up to the war chief with the intent of continuing their conversation.
"Go wit 'em Buggro, ya sticking up my home," the ogre commanded, lifting his stuff to lightly hit the little goblin away from him.
The first few steps out of the hut were much of the same, where Mikey, Lazarus and Buggro held the disgusted gazes of every savage in sight; the two boys returned that same gaze to everyone around.
“That thing you said back there in the hut, the thing about the wolves, what was that?” Lazarus asked Mikey, though he kept his gaze vigilant.
“Do you remember the One-Liner? Back at the inn? I told you all about what I want through on the ship and mentioned that... dark place, the dream, the one that told me to look for Lady,” Mikey began to explain as they found themselves now wandering the streets, not wanting to stop and take the chance of being approached. “I was there, again, the other night before I woke up. All you need to trust is that I know what to do.”
“You want me to back that on a crazy dream you had while high on serpent venom? Yeah right,” Lazarus chuckled, his eyes being drawn momentarily to what looked like an orc dropping a human arm into one of those ‘Boila’ pots. “But I’ve got no better ideas, and you’re my captain. Whatever it is, I’m behind you.”
The two of them continued on, though they then heard a measly voice from behind them. As they turned to face it, a scrawny arm held up with a polite request to speak.
“Captain peoples! Buggro has ideas! Great ideas! Can I show you?!” the little red goblin pleaded, nervously bouncing on his toes.
“Well, shit, it’s about time you said something. Thought I’d have to walk around all day,” Mikey said with a sigh of relief, dropping his hand on Buggro’s head, scruffing his hair like Lazarus and Galliard had done to him so many times. “Lead the way, Buggro.”
