In many ways Trunau had been what Noche'Wa had expected. The small community of 700 souls was a fortified outpost against the orcs. Surrounded by a palisade and defended with ever wakeful vigilance, it had been the only human community to survive after the Hordeline fell hundreds of years ago. Barely eking out a living, Noche'Wa had expected a beleaguered city under siege.
He had seen some of that, yes. The city was well-defended certainly, with around the clock guards at the gates, visitors thoroughly searched. The Shoanti noticed everyone was armed, even the children as young as 12 and 13. Food was stockpiled everywhere, and he had even glimpsed the siegestone, a magical item that could, at need, supply the town with gruel for months on end. What Noche'Wa had not seen was the fear or cowed nature he expected. This city was full of fight and defiance, even now. The fighters stood tall and brave, unbowed or unbroken. They planned raids and attacks on the orcs, not merely content to be defenders. The bard even heard talk of trade caravans to and from Lastwall.
Lastly, and most surprising, was the number of half-orcs and full blooded orcs he saw on the busy streets. While no orcs lived in Trunau (Manhome as the orcs called it) many visited the city to trade, some from local tribes and a few from Urgir itself. While also undoubtedly spies, the men and women of Trunau obviously thought the orcs an acceptable risk (although Noche'Wa noted they were always watched).
So the Shoanti found himself at the Hopespring, a bubbling brook that supplies the town with fresh water. It burbles straight out of the living rock, already a sizable rush of water. A few people linger near it, enjoying the sound of water on stone. A sleeping elf reclines next to it, a bit out of place in the city of men and half-orcs.
The elf ignores Noche'Wa words, still lightly sleeping (which was odd since elves didn't need to sleep).
Noche'Wa hears laughter then and turns to face a young woman, wearing battered but well-kept black leather. She is armed, like everyone in town, with a sword at her hip and two knives on the other side. Her hair is kept short, and is a frazzled black.
Her eyes laugh too, dancing black.
"Silvermane will never answer you." The woman says, drawing a pail of water out of the spring. "He is mute. Besides, he doesn't care for strangers" She murmurs something too quiet for the Wild Mouse to hear and the elf pops an eye open. After a moment he gravely nods to the woman then falls asleep again.
The woman turns back to Noche'Wa, "My name is Quella. Who might you be and why are you asking information about the Hold?" She is polite but firmly curious.
Quella avoids the embrace, steeping smoothly and quickly. The people of Trunau are a guarded people, not given to close contact. A lifetime of martial training seems to have given them an intense need for personal space.
Her face is a bit more wary as she goes on, "The orcs are always on the warpath." She says automatically, then says, 'But we haven't been raided much lately. More traders then usual though..." She seems vaguely troubled by this then says, "If you really have a taste for news, you can try the Ramblehouse. It is the closest thing we have to an Inn. All the news is discussed there."
Quella looks at the reclining Shoanti. 'Perhaps. My husband should be back by then. Maybe we will both meet you there. He has a thirst for news. Enjoy your stay."
She leaves, her walk an elegant swaying, down the hill. Other come and fill water, most ignoring Noche. Children, old women, young teens, all types.
Two men come to the Hopespring, in the middle of a friendly argument.
"I say the Ulfen. Big, fast and mean." One says, a tall man with a rusty beard.
"Naw, it is the paladins of Lastwall. Brave, honest and well armed. I'd take them anytime." The other man, a thin wiry man.
Both then notice Noche and stop in their tracks.
'Hello, stranger?"
The bearded man says, "No. Just have an argument, about the best warriors in the world." he looks at the hard, lean, well-muscled body of the Shoanti. "The Shoanti are contenders." The other man nods, smiling a bit.
As they do so, an orc strides up the path toward the spring. He is short, with wide shoulders and a bit of a hunch. His green skin glints in the bright sunlight and he keeps his head down. He is not armed but is wearing thick leathers decorated with bright red feathers.
As he passes, the thin wiry man says, 'Easy greenskin. Don't muddy our water." Both men laugh cruelly.
The orc ignores him and scoops out a few handfuls of water, letting it flow over his face and trickle back in. Silvermane opens an eye, watching the drinking orc.
"I said, don't get your muddy paws in it." The man says again, voice rising. He walks over to the orc, shouting, "Get out of here, greenskin!" The other man nods firmly.
The orc looks up, squinting in the bright sunlight and then shrugs and turns back to the water. The man kicks him, hard, in the side.
'I'll be damned if I let you ignore me. Letting you past the gates...You greenskins killed my father before I could walk and now you come in and drink from our spring?!" He kicks him again and Noche'Wa, with a warrior's instinct, can tell the orc is about to strike back.
The orc looks from the glaring, kicking man to Noche'Wa. His answer is guttal, more spit then said. "I do not speak their language. I do nothing but drink and they kick me. I am supposed to do nothing while they beat me?
The orc hisses a curse when the man kicks him a third time.
As Noche'Wa steps between the men and the orc, he can sense waves of hostility. The rusty bearded man grimaces and says, 'You some kind of orc lover, outlander?"
His tone is still hard, and his hand goes for the sword at his side. The other one stands at his shoulder adding, "Yeah, this is our town. We've kept them out for generations and now we let them in?"
Then the man curses in Orcish and spits on the orc behind Noche'Wa. The orc roars and dives for the man under Noche'Wa's arm...
Even as Noche'Wa clears the way for a fight, he sees a figure charging up the hill. It only takes a moment before Noche'Wa realizes it is a human female, tall and strong yet aging. She has more weapons then both men put together, and a blackened blade hangs from her hand.
"What in the name of Gorum is this?" She roars and the two men jump back as if stung. She growls a similar phrase in Orcish to the orc, who wilts.
'Chief Defender..." the rusty bearded man says, fear in his voice.
The woman ignores him and whirls on Noche'wa, 'Who are you and what is going on here?"
"Good man." She grunts and turns to the men.
"Berek and Waillem. You should know better, I'll be talking to your wives and friends. Run along now." As if she was dismissing two misbehaving young boys. They scowl but leave quickly, obviously eager to get out from under her stern gaze.
The orc tries to slink away but the woman freezes him with a glare. Her voice turns raspy and rough as she says in Orcish. "I am Halgra of the Blackened Blades. I rule here and you are here on my agreement. Betray that trust and I will let these men cut you open and feed your guts to the flies."
The orc nods and bows, then hurries off.
The woman sighs and turns to Noche'Wa. "Thank you, friend. I had hoped trade would build a bridge between our peoples, and to an extent it has, but well...they are orcs and they are men of Turnau. Who can blame either side?" Then he looks at the Shoanti more closely, 'And who might you be and why are you in our city." The tone is polite and curious.
'Blessed are you, of the earth." She says in very rusty Shoanti.
She smiles then, "You have a table in this land? I doubt it. Perhaps you can visit mine instead?" She turns and points to a large house int he midst of town. "Come at nightfall, we can discuss the ways of the warrior and how to avoid fights?" She smiles at the joke.
Noche' Wa wanders down the road from the Hopespring. All around him people are busy with life, everything from fixing buildings to playing games. The Shoanti notes a few blacksmiths making arms. Outside of one, he spots the orc haggling with a man over some hobnailed boots. The thick leather and iron look more like work for a smith then a tailor.
The discussion is short and Noche'Wa sees the orc hand over a small shiny gem to the blacksmith. As he turns away he spots Noche'Wa and grunts, recognizing him.
The orc, red fathers shimmering in the sun looks at Noche'Wa for a long moment. His greenish skin looks dark and heavy in the harsh sunlight and the Shoanti can see the long teeth and heavy jaw.
"Good, enough." The Orc says, 'Humans always try to cheat me, but after some bickering they are usually fair enough. Much better then my own people make." He holds the boots up then adds, 'Why do you care, Shoanti?"
The orc ponders the tall, armed man, then looks around. "Not many places in Manhome for my people. Let us go to the Barterstones." he says, referencing the open-air market, outside of town and the usual place for orcs to trade, as well as some of the herders and farmers outside the town.
Without much ado, the orc starts to led the way. A few eyes follow the unusual pair, but no one stops them or says anything.
The Barterstones are a busy place. Orcs, half-orcs, local shepherds face off against town merchants and housewives. Everything from coin and gems to iron and wheat are traded.
The orc leads Noche'wa to a small tent, where another orc stands, picking through piles of dried leather. "My brother." He says shortly. For a moment they converse in orcish, with a weird dialect Noche'Wa can't quite follow. After a bit Noche'Wa's (Noche'Wa sees the orc pocket something from behind the counter) guide takes him to a more permanent looking stall where a halfling sits behind the counter.
The small, dapper figure gives the orc a hard look but nods to the Shoanti. 'What'll it be strangers?" He speaks to Noche'Wa though, not the orc.
The orc grunts out 'Ale and it is in Common. The halfling looks a bit shocked but when nothing else is forthcoming, pours it out.
In front of him,t he orc pulls out his flask and pours in a strong helping of some dark liquid. It smells like paint thinner. Happily the orc starts to sip the ale, still wary.
'My name is Korz. Of the Empty Hand." Then, after a pause, 'What brings you to Manhome? It is far from Shoanti lands."
"My chieftain?" Korz says, his voice hard to read but there is surprise there. He takes a long drink savoring the pungent smell from whatever orc liquor he added. 'What service do you have to offer to Grask Uldeth? What couldyou offer to such a mighty warlord/"
The orc doesn't seem to understand the wink, but he understands the ale. He grins, and continues to doctor them. The halfling mutters to Noche'Wa, "None of us want a drunk orc, friend. Keep it reasonable."
The orc sounds perfectly sober though as he ponders the question,'What about the Hold? My tribe is strong, Grask is a worthy leader." The orc grunt and adds, "More raiders from the south and west. Your people are good fighters.'
He seems to mean this honestly and adds, 'Freedom Town is uneasy. No wonder, living so close to the shadowed land of ghosts. Ustalav."
The orc finishes the ale and asks for another.
"No, not orcs. Freedom Town. A group of human outlaws and criminals who came to the Hold, built a town out of it. They trade yes, but they also fight. Lately they have seemed worried, concerned, more raids and killings. Something strange is going on."
"The Dead Head trade here, even some of the Bearslayer. More and more from those cowardly Cleft Head." He grumbles a curse at cowards and drowns the drink.
The orc waves for another ale. "Not like this. Manhome is quiet, peaceful, deep roots. Freedom Town is wild, full of criminals and killers. Not the same at all....they moved in. Manhome was here first and withstood us." he detects respect at Trunau's resistance to the orc's.
"As for tribes, there are many. Hundreds, from all over the Hold." He starts to gulp down the ale, heavily doctored. Obviously feeling better he waves the flask to Noche'Wa. 'Want to try?"
The halfling is starting to look worried.
"Depends on the trade. A few days at most." The orc nods respectfully. "May you have good travels." Then he adds, "If you travel into the Hold, be careful. It is not a place for men to go lightly. You must be strong.." The orc drains the last ale and walks off to another merchant, apparently unaffected by the drink.
The orc sizes Noche' Wa up carefully. 'It is a thing that might happen. I am strong and have traveled the Hold for my lifetime. An orc is born strong, but perhaps you an carry my pack, pink-skin." The orc laughs at the joke and then saunters off, still cackling.
The halfling shakes his head, "I'd stay away from them, friend. You look like a man who can take care of himself, but heading into the Hold? That is not done lightly."
"I know what every Trunau citizen knows." The hafling says, pausing and withdrawing a small knife from around his neck. "Do you know what this is? It is a hopekinfe. Everyone in the city gets one on their twelfth birthday. When you get it, they also show you what veins to cut, in case the orcs every break through the walls so you don't get taken alive."
"That is enough for me." He doesn't take a drink and busies himself with his work, not in the mood to talk.
The rest of the day passes without much incident. Various inhabitants of Turnau nod or wave to him. They are all eager to make a visitor feel welcome. Human travelers and traders are rare in the town, always get the best treatment. As the sun sets, deep and red behind the mountains, Noche'Wa can see the orcs leaving the walls. No orcs inside after dark, seems to be the local law.
In the soft dusk, Noche'Wa makes his way to Halgra's house. Up close it is more imposing then it seemed. Long, low and bright white, it is made of white-washed limestone. It is strong and stout, as if it could serve as a redoubt in last need.
Today though,t he broad wooden doors are thrown open, and scents of fine cooking trickle out. As the Shoanti comes up, he sees Halgra lean out a door. 'Ah, glad you could join us. Come in, come in."
Inside, Noche'Wa sees a large dining room, with a huge table spread out. half-orcs buzz around setting up food and drink. It becomes quickly evident these are Halgra's sons, daughters and grandchildren. All greet the warrior graciously except for a few of the shyest youngster. Noche'Wa is set at the right-hand side of the big table. Interestingly, he sees another spot being prepared for Halgra's right.
The food does indeed smell good and Noche'Wa's mouth floods with spit as he sees the bread, meats and cheese fill the table. He is allowed to eat as much as he wants, and his antics seem to win over much of the family. The huge family has a dozen conversations going at once as Halgra turns to Noiche'Wa.
'So, tell me about yourself, why you are here, where you plan to go next. We so rarely get travelers."