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He nods hesitantly at first as the sounds slowly trickle in from the first woman's mouth completely unaware of her reaction when the mention of justice is raised amongst the gathered people. Before he can say anything she moves off and then leaves the dwelling only to return. He has not moved as if expecting her to return and patiently waiting 'Is this the way of the people?' then he continues as if she had never left. "You. You are Speaker. You are Mo-ir-a. I. I am Methilius. I am the Feral. I. I..I do not remember where from is. This. This is new." he spreads his hands wide to indicate everything around him. "You. You make sounds with people. They. They are your pack?" He turns as he hears the crashing sound of the drinking vessels. He looks at Moira. "They. They challenge each other? I.
The halfling looks on lost with so many sounds to keep track of. He looks at all the people the first woman now traded sounds with doing his best to track these sounds. He watched the people gathered consuming their water and moved to the long wood that separated the one giving water to the others. Climbing up on the stool by the long wood he gets the man's attention. "Water. His water." he points at the man whose water has left froth on his face. 'To be Speaker I must drink water.' he asked himself but he did not hear the Voice answer back. He looked at the first woman again "You. You make many sounds. You hear many things. I. I drink and become Speaker? I. I would hear things too. What is...Blight?" He stares at her waiting for the sounds to come his aggressiveness now replaced by natural curiosity.
The halfling snaps out of his thoughts and moves for his knives. He watches as words get thrown between the overly clean man and the emaciated woman. Before anything can be done the woman leaves and overly clean man looks about with a look of...apology. He eases his hands away from his knives confident the challenge will not turn to blood.
"They. They feel it. This night comes with fear." Unaware he spoke aloud he leaves his axe on the table and moves to the man talking of the feral creature. "You. You look for something that has been taken. I. I look for something as well. I have wandered close. I. I have seen no feral creature. It. It walk on fours or two? It leaves entrails of animals?"
The halfling looks around as more and more people come into the dwelling and then looks on with confusion as the old man quickly turns his attention away from him. He sits back down slowly and listens to the strange sounds coming from all these people. 'Too many sounds. They make my head buzz.' He would not get what he wanted with any show of force here. He watched on as they so easily formed their sounds into words. He shakes his head vigorously trying to clear his mind. "Lost? City has many lost? The City it calls to the lost. That is why I must go. The orc-blooded must be there. He hoped I would be food for the Ogre. But he taught me too well. I feed the ogre." the halfling looks at his hands and stares at them with detest before dropping his head. "I. I feed ogre. But I paid with other blood. " With the last part you hear his voice return and as he pounds his fist against the table you watch his eyes staring at the charms hanging about his axe.
”So you hate orcs huh? Probably just as well. I hear they have some civilization to the north and west, but I have yet to see a civilized orc. They all seem brutish killing machines to me. Or is there someone specific you seek?” he wonders at the last. "Orcs. No. Ogres. Yes. I hunt for the orc blooded. The half orc. He is worse than... OGRES." At the second mention of 'Ogres' the halfling grinds his teeth and you watch as a little blood begins to trickle down the corner of his mouth. Soon his pupils begin to dilate and the vein in his neck starts to pulsate as the rage courses through his body. He digs his fingers into the table and leans forward and quickly whips his head about talking to everyone around him. "I search. I head for city. The half orc. He is there. You. You head to city. Bring me." 'We need a guide. Yes any will do. We will not find the half orc. We need them. Convince them. Convince them NOW.' he hated that voice. It spoke to him like a child and he was no child, but the voice was right. It was always right in times like these. He never could have survived all those years without it. The voice was his guide and he trusted it as much he hated how it was always right. He looked at the female leaning back in her chair. Then the others who whispered so he could not hear. Were they able to help him? If not what was he to do? Finally he turned back to the old man. He had been quiet more watching than talking. Was he not the Speaker.
"You. Speak. Speak...NOW."
The halfling looks at the female and nods triumphantly. He removes the great axe from his back and drops it no so gently onto the table in front of the old man. A ringing echoes through the room as the charms rattle against one another. "You. You have wandered to the city. I search. I search for the orc blooded. You. Have you seen?" he looks at the female and then back to the old man waiting for their answer.
Night had come to the settlement as the halfling finally stepped into Wicken. It had taken him longer to reach the quiet hamlet than it should have but he had been away from civilization so long it scared him more than even Mama Grouswowe. The thought of filled his mind with and echoing abyss of screams. He could feel his feet begin to move faster and his mind told him to run. A shiver ran the course of his spine down to his legs he looked up just in time to stop from running right into a door. 'What?!' his hands sprang for his short blade that hung at loosely by his waist as disturbingly beautiful voice drifted from the other side of the door. He looked around and saw noone else around. 'We go now. Now or we run. NOW.' with that he fought with fear to move his hand forward and push the door open. There was no resistance and the sounds and smells that he had forgotten about swirled about his body calling him in. The dwelling was full of chatter as we watched a group of others now circling about two tables. One man. Old. Human. He spoke while the others listened. 'Who is he? They listen. Why?' The halfling crept closer pushing himself amongst the others to make his presence felt. 'They will listen. I speak now. NOW.' Barely more than a whisper the halfling set his dark eyes upon the old man. "You. You speak. They listen. I speak. They listen."
He bared his teeth to show that he meant to have them hear his words. Words that he had not spoken in over three years. His voice cracked even saying that little. Dressed in over sized leathers that he had been lucky to stumble upon they had served well while in the wild. He hoped they would serve here equally well with the stains of dried blood that splattered the various sections. The sleeves had been roughly cut back to just past the elbows because they had been too long. An old thick woolen brown cloak rested on his shoulders. The cloak showed its age with the snags and holes that could visibly be seen. He shifted his cloak just enough to show the hilts of two long knives that he wore at his side. Yet the most intimidating about this feral creature was the axe that rested on his back. Twined around the haft of the axe was a collection of charms consisting stones, teeth and tiny animal skulls.
This is Karmic Knight's submission. The backstory is long btw. backstory (long): Years before taking the name Methilius the Feral he was known as Lius Fourhedges and dreamed of being the greatest chef in all of Avistan greater than even the chefs of Absalom. His search for a teacher brought him to the feet of a half orc known as the Saffron Chef. However, for as great as his skills were the Saffron Chef was a selfish and hard teacher who guarded his secrets closer than a dwarf guarded his last coin. He would ridicule, torment and punish Lius over and over to the point where Lius was ready to leave only then to be coerced back by the Saffron Chef when finally allowed to view a page from his secret cookbook or having a full course meal, worthy for the Primrose Emperor of Taldor, prepared for him. While enroute to Castorhage, the caravan that they had been hired on for was ambushed by a group of humanoids. In the chaos of the escape the Saffron Chef did the unthinkable and threw his apprentice into a crowd of pursuing humanoids to buy him the time to escape. Instead of being killed outright the humanoid raiders gathered Lius and the rest of the survivors that had not died on the initial attack and brought them to their camp. Every few nights that followed a survivor or two would be taken before the leader of the raiders, a large ogre matriarch named Mama Grouswowe. Screams and sadistic laughter would soon follow afterwards filling the night. At first the screams bothered Lius but he soon found a way to block out the blood chortled sounds. He continued to play over the scene of the Saffron Chef throwing him into the crowd of his captors. It became an obsession and the rage that followed began to imbalance Lius’ mind. Soon he was making up recipes that had the Saffron Chef as the main ingredient. In each thought he served the slow roasting body of the Saffron Chef to an eagerly waiting Mama Grouswowe. When the time finally came for Lius to be brought before Mama Grouswowe all he could picture was the Saffron Chef’s bound body trussed up and waiting to be slowly boiled alive. Unknown to Lius was that as he was picturing this in his mind the only thing that kept coming out of his mouth was the word ’chef…chef…chef’. This response intrigued Mama Grouswowe who looked at the small halfling – who was now rather lean from the lack of food and water he had been given – as little more than an hors d'oeuvre. There was no fear left in the halfling’s eyes in fact they were far too vacant. Thoughts raced through the sadistic creature’s mind and she posed Lius with a challenge that would be far too fun to resist. She brought him close and told him that she would free him if he could create the greatest feast she had ever tasted. The stipulations were that it would happen in one fortnight and he would not know the main course until the night before. Just hearing the word freedom was enough to shake him from his self-induced catatonic state and nodded at Mama Grouswowe to accept her challenge. Over the next week Lius gathered everything he could scouring the camp for anything he thought Mama Grouswowe would like sometimes fighting tooth and nail with the ogress’ minions to take an ingredient that would make the main course exquisite. He could not back down his life depended on it. His revenge depended on it. If he could appease an ogress’ appetite it would stop her from eating him he would be one step closer to finding the Saffron Chef. Finally the night before the feast Mama Grouswowe brought Lius to the large cooking pit that had been prepared for him. He watched as the remaining captives ran about dragging supplies and ingredients and he sighed with relief happy to see he was going to have help preparing the food. But Mama Grouswowe only laughed when he thanked her. ”No they are the main course!” As the blood drained from his face she continued, ”You live if they taste like baby elves. You die otherwise.” and with that she walked away. Left with little else to do he watched as the sun began to set and in the night he killed each and every one of them as they slept. What happened next became more like a nightmare as he worked and prepared the bodies of the captives like one would prepare a delicate piece of venison or veal. He closed his mind that night and the next day created his opus. True to her word Mama Grouswowe enjoyed every honeyed finger and pepper stuffed eyeball she ate. She feasted like an empress and let Lius free well aware that the damage she had caused was more delightful than any meal she could eat. Unable to face what he had done he wandered about the area close to Castorhage rarely making contact with anyone. Taking on a new name as a form of penance he slowly came to terms with what he had done but in doing so his contempt for the half orc grew even greater. Fuelled by this fury he set off with one purpose in mind. Find that half orc and then slowly roast him alive. He licked his recently sharpened teeth and saw in the distance a settlement.
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