by Alex Aguilar
They approached an old shabby-looking tavern with a blue sign reading The Stumblin’ Hare and the picture of a rabbit-like creature submerged inside a foaming tankard. It was just as Nyx had remembered it, identical save for one small detail.
A second wooden sign hung below the tavern name. ‘No Freaks Allowed’ it read at first, but the words had been marked over with a red X, and below it were white freshly painted letters that read: Rabbits & Greenskins Welcome. Nyx was suddenly thankful that neither Robyn nor the Beast knew how to read.
There was an elf beggar sitting on the mud near the tavern doors. He had a basket near his feet that was nearly empty except for a few coppers. Robyn walked up the front steps first, and when she didn’t feel the Beast’s presence looming behind her, she looked back. The orc was digging through his pockets for spare coin; all he found was a copper, but the elf beggar looked up and smiled all the same.
Robyn felt a tug in her chest; it wasn’t exactly an act she would expect from someone like the Beast and yet her eyes continued to deceive her. “Ready?” she asked him warmly before stepping inside. So strong was her discomfort that she sought warmth from an orc that, until then, had shown her nothing but hostility. Even Nyx couldn’t reassure her, not in his serpentine form; in a strange town like Grymsbi, she felt undeniably safer having the Beast by her side.
When they finally entered the tavern, only half the eyes in the room glanced at them. The majority of the customers were human, though there was a Woodland elf sitting in a corner among a band of raiders and another one serving tables. It was quite crowded despite it being early in the evening, and the only seats available were at the tavern bar. Robyn and her companions took a seat next to a husky red-faced man with a messy head of hair and an unkempt beard.
“Pardon me, sir? May I move your satchel?” Robyn asked, but the man was far too drunk and on the verge of passing out over the counter, and so she moved it anyway. All around them, the commotion was loud and overwhelming. The Beast was observing the room like a wolf sniffing about in unknown territory.
“You all right?” Robyn asked, and he replied only with a grunt and a head nod.
The tavern server was a scrawny young man in his early twenties, and when he turned and laid eyes on the Beast he yelped and dropped the tankard of ale he’d been holding so steadily. “Oh dear, I’m so terribly sorry,” he said tensely, wiping his hands on his apron, attempting to look calm and casual. “Hello… Can ye help, err… can I help you with something?”
“Ale,” the Beast grunted.
“Y-Yes,” the young man cleared his throat. “Right away, sir. Make yerself a’ home, sir!”
He was trying rather hard, and it was painfully obvious. And the Beast, in return, looked at the server with a contemptuous expression, as if looking at a bard who was ruining every note in a popular tune.
“Just water for me, please,” Robyn smiled.
“Certainly,” the lad said tautly. “The name’s Seamus. Anything ye need, just ask!”
Robyn noticed his hesitance and she could tell the Beast had noticed it, too. And to make matters worse, when Seamus brought their drinks he leaned in towards the orc with a shivering lip.
“I’m deeply sorry, sir,” he cleared his throat. “But they make me say this… Um… W-We don’t want any trouble here, yes? Just… keep that in mind, that’s all.” With that, Seamus walked away to serve other clients, and Robyn couldn’t help but glance at the Beast.
There was a look on his face she couldn’t quite make out.
Discomfort? Anger? Sorrow? Perhaps all of them at once?
Robyn scowled. “What’d he just…?”
“Let it go, Robyn,” Nyx hissed into her ear. It was the first time he’d called her ‘Robyn’ and not ‘Lady Robyn’, which surprised her.
The Beast drank from his ale, maintaining that look on his face. He hadn’t exactly expected a warm welcome but the tavern server’s words had come unexpectedly, and though they were minor they stung him all the same.
Robyn sipped her water, her mind reeling with a million thoughts. Now that she had made it to Halghard, she hadn’t the slightest clue where to even begin. She knew her brother was heading to the western coast, yet she knew not what roads he was traveling through or whom he had associated with along the way. She’d acted impulsively throughout the journey, burdening her mind only with thoughts that required her immediate consideration. Escaping the tree nymphs, escaping Malekai, escaping the Woodlands… It was a miracle she was still alive and well, with only a burn scar on her arm to slow her down. But now that she was in Halghard, with only a few coppers in her pockets, she would need a different approach if she wished to make it all the way to the western coast.
She froze all of a sudden, noticing a peculiar set of eyes staring at her from afar. A young woman with brown dreadlocks and dark skin was sitting in a dark corner behind a table of peasants. She was sipping on her ale and wiping her chin with the sleeves of her burgundy velvet coat, but her eyes were solely fixed on Robyn, shooting her a less-than-friendly look as if recognizing an old enemy, though Robyn swore she’d never seen the woman before. To begin with, Robyn didn’t know anyone outside of the kingdom of Vallenghard except for a few traveling merchants her mother was acquainted with. She also didn’t remember seeing the woman anywhere within the Woodlands, unless she was a covert member of the Brotherhood, but there was no red leather nor did Robyn see any wrist tattoo. Still, the woman looked less like a peasant and more like a mercenary; she had several scars on her face and chest, scars that only a blade could make, and her hair was slicked back with a buckskin headband, revealing her rather peculiar earring, a jaguar’s tooth pierced through her left ear.
“Where’s my bloody drink?!” a drunken man shouted nearby.
Startled, Robyn’s eyes moved away from the woman; even the drunken husky man next to them groaned annoyingly and wriggled in his chair half-asleep. There were several hostile stares thrown their way, mainly at the Beast, and Robyn felt the hairs rising at the back of her neck. Her angst only worsened when she glanced back towards the corner and saw nothing but an empty chair. The strange woman with the earring was nowhere to be seen, as if she had vanished into thin air.
Robyn felt sick all of a sudden, exposed and vulnerable, feeling as if the woman was still lurking about somewhere, watching her from the shadows. Damn it all to hells, it seems like nowhere is safe out here.
“Everything… all right?” Nyx asked her in a croaky whisper as if he was out of breath, his serpentine tongue moving in and out of his mouth unwillingly.
“Y-Yeah…” she hesitated. She gave him a look that was supposed to reassure him, but the serpent was not the least bit convinced. “Are you all right?”
Nyx stared blankly forward. His head was rocking subtly back and forth, gently like winded dog. He opened his scaly lips and whispered, “Hurts… to… talk.”
Robyn felt a shred of guilt, realizing she must have asked him a hundred questions on the walk into town. “Oh Nyx, you poor thing,” she said. “Your new mouth wasn’t made for talking.” She would have embraced him, but she already felt strange enough talking to a serpent in a crowded tavern. “You rest now. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
She glanced around for an amiable-looking face. She had to ask someone where she could fetch a caravan south, for the only way to get to Drahkmere was by ship. She could ask the tavern server, she figured. At least he seemed friendly enough. But she’d have to wait for an opportune moment or until the tavern closed for the night. And so, seeing as she had time to spare and Nyx could not speak, she turned to the only other familiar face in the tavern.
“Slow down,” she said, but the tongue-tied Beast did not slow down a bit; he chugged down his ale like water and demanded more, with a glare so sharp that poor Seamus hesitated to reach for the empty tankard. There was something odd about the orc’s demeanor that evening. He did not appear in the mood for a conversation, but that was typical of him. Moreover,
he seemed lost in thought, as if the life all around him was making him reminisce about the life he once had. In a way, he even looked sad.
“Bit different than you’re used to, I take it?” Robyn decided to ask.
As usual, the Beast said nothing, only gave her a grunt.
Not this again, she thought. Just talk to me, will you?
“Have you ever set foot in Halghard before?” she asked, though she was quite sure she knew the answer. Still, the Beast only sighed brusquely and closed his eyes.
Come on, you… You’ve done it before. It’s not that difficult.
Suddenly, she noticed the Beast’s head moving subtly from side to side, and then his eyes looked to her as if his part of the conversation was done.
That is a ‘no’… Very well, it’s a start…
“No need to worry,” she said to him. “The hounds that bark the loudest are the last to ever bite, my mum’s always said. You won’t find any trouble here, only loud-mouths.”
The Beast sat so still, he may as well have been made of stone. His eyes were the only part of him that moved, observing the commotion all around them.
“Folks ‘round these parts have it easy compared to life in the Woodlands,” Robyn went on, attempting to lift his spirits. “They’ll take one look at those scars of yours and know not to mess with you.”
His expression shifted suddenly. He still wouldn’t speak a word, but his eyes glanced down at his scars as if he’d forgotten they were there, as if trying to convince himself that she was probably in the right. If nothing else, it gave Robyn some comfort to know that he at least was listening.
“How did you get those scars?” she asked, knowing it may have been a risky question. Instantly, Nyx gave her a nervous glance. He knew he had to be subtle, but Robyn’s brute courage often got her in more trouble than was good for her. “Beast?” she pressed further, determined to get the orc to talk.
“Fuckin’ hells, scrap,” he grunted, closing his eyes yet again, irritated and mentally jaded. “Ye don’t know when to stop, do ye? If I answer one question, will ye shut yer yap ‘n’ let me be?”
Robyn bit her tongue. She didn’t mean to offend him; if anything, she wanted to ease his nerves. Still, she swallowed her pride and gruffly said, “Sure.”
It soon became clear that the Beast hadn’t spoken personally to anyone before, at least not in recent years. Even among the Rogue Brotherhood he’d been a solitary soul, unwelcome and unwanted. He would sleep with a dagger beneath his pillow every night. He would hunt for his own food, for nobody would ever offer to share a meal with him. The world was cruel to him and his skin had grown so thick that he couldn’t trust another soul; it simply wasn’t in his nature anymore, if it ever was. When he spoke, the pain was palpable even as he tried desperately to hide it.
“I was just a lad,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. Robyn had to lean in closer to hear him over the chatter. “Stonewalkers… they killed me whole clan, butchered ‘em all in the dead of night. I was scared… Hadn’t been in many fights, so I just… ran.”
He paused there momentarily. Already, Robyn felt a knot in her throat; she sipped on her water to ease it back down.
“I was just a lad,” he said again. “A young, scared, stupid lad…”
He released a heaving sigh, a rather angry one.
“I left ‘em to die,” he said. “The moment I saw the massive bastards, I jumped in the river ‘n’ let it take me… It dragged me so far from home, I didn’t know where I was. I was lost ‘n’ alone. Only reason I survived is ‘cause o’ my axe. Me father taught me to hunt with it… But even my axe was no match for…”
He stopped there for a moment. Robyn fought the urge to place a hand on his back for comfort; the Beast didn’t seem like the type for that kind of affection. Some folks, she realized, simply needed someone willing to lend an ear. “For…?” she asked.
“It was a bear that gave me this scar,” he said. “A big fucker. Worst part is I almost let ‘im win. I figured it was easier than goin’ hungry. In the Woodlands, ye’re either the hunter or the hunted… That was the day the Brotherhood found me. I saw ‘em lookin’ at me. A scrawny littl’ bastard I was, fightin’ off a bear, and they just… they stood there ‘n’ watched. Didn’t try to help, they just… watched.”
Robyn felt a sudden uncontrollable guilt upon remembering how much she had questioned the orc before. How she asked him about his ‘friends’, the rogue mercenaries.
“My axe was out o’ my reach,” he went on. “So I fought ‘im with just me hands. Beat ‘im right to his death, the giant bastard. But not before he left his mark on me.” He took a moment to look down at his giant scar, a constant reminder of where he’d come from. “The cap’n offered me a deal right then ‘n’ there… He said I was the best fighter he ever saw. Said if I joined ‘em, I’d have gold ‘n’ riches for the rest o’ me days. A young lad with no family left would be stupid not to take a deal like that… And so I’ve been ridin’ with ‘em ever since.”
Robyn understood then, the reasoning behind his cold demeanor. And the more she visualized herself in his shoes, the more she began to hate humans and their disgusting sense of entitlement.
“The bloody bastards,” the Beast said, his eyes glistening under the lanterns’ glow. “They never once asked me name, y’know… All I ever was to them was a weapon. When they saw me kill that bear alone ‘n’ unarmed, they nearly pissed themselves. All they saw was a mad beast… And that’s who I became…”
The knot in Robyn’s throat returned. She realized she hadn’t asked for his name either, only assumed he preferred not to give it away. “What is it?” she decided to take the risk, and the Beast glanced at her morosely. “What’s your name?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose; it would’ve sounded almost like a chuckle, had it not been so sullen. “I said I’d answer one question, scrap,” he grunted, and then proceeded to gulp down his second ale.
Robyn did not pry further. She simply sat there and pondered on his story. Even Nyx appeared out of sorts, as they sat in silence while the commotion reverberated all around them. Suddenly, however, their peace was broken by the same drunken brute that had been shouting nonsense moments prior. Stumbling towards the bar, the inebriated man was growling and hissing as if he was entitled to everything the tavern had to offer.
“Oi, Seamus!” he shouted. “I’ve been waitin’ for me bloody drink for ages, mate.”
The tavern server glanced nervously at the man, thankful there was a wooden counter there to separate them. “Y-Yes, Mister Hutner! Right away, sir!”
In a drunken stupor, the man took notice of the Beast, bending his neck as if trying to catch a glimpse of the orc’s wrist. His expression shifted from a steady one to a hostile one, as his eyes moved back and forth from the Beast to Seamus. “The fuck’s all this, then?”
Seamus tried to ignore the man. His intentions were not very clear, though it seemed he was barking more at the Beast than at anyone else. “We lettin’ stray freaks into our town now?” he asked.
Seamus glanced at the Beast’s wrist and saw the tattoo of the scorpion, but he grew nervous when he noticed that there was no permit number there. “Well, um… He did pay to be here just like everyone else, Mister Hutner,” he tried to reason, but his words seemed to escape the drunken man’s ears.
“Have you heard what they say ‘bout orcs, lad?” asked Mister Hutner, his eyes still fixed on the Beast. “You know their skins used to be the same as ours? But over the years they all turned green ‘cause of all their inbreeding.”
The Beast drank his ale without as much as a wince; Robyn turned to him and expected more. And then something like rage began to grow inside her chest and the awful breath coming from Mister Hutner’s mouth was only adding to it. Nyx looked up at her, wanting very much to calm her down and yet too afraid to speak out loud amidst so much commotion.
“Here’s yer drink, Mister Hutner. This one’s on the house,” Seamus se
rved him a full tankard, hoping it would sway the man away from the Beast. But the stubborn man’s mockery only seemed to grow.
“I ain’t drinkin’ in the same room as no stray greenskin,” he said.
Robyn couldn’t help herself any longer. If the Beast wasn’t going to speak up, someone else had to do it. She turned in her chair and looked up at the man’s unusually scarred face.
Eat shit, she wished she could say. Instead, she chose the more proper path.
“Pardon me, sir, but my friend here paid his share just like everyone else in this tavern and he deserves the same respect you’re getting for it.”
The Beast muttered something under his breath, far too low to be comprehensible.
“Secondly,” Robyn kept on. “By whose standards do you label him a freak? Because believe it or not, he’s got more in common with you and me than you think.”
The Beast’s mutter grew into a soft growl. “Let it go, scrap…”
“And lastly, sir,” Robyn went on regardless. “I’m no historian. But I’m quite sure that your theory about the color of an orc’s skin is a load of shit!” Robyn watched as Mister Hutner’s face twisted into a raging grimace. He grabbed her violently by the coat and pulled her out of her seat, and Nyx suddenly wished he was something other than a snake.
“Listen ‘ere, girl!” the drunken brute growled. “Your friend here is a filthy greenskin and that’s all he’ll ever be. A freak! And those who choose to be friends with freaks should be treated just the same!”
Suddenly, the Beast slammed his glass down with a force so strong that it shattered in his hand. He jumped to his feet, his hand gripping his axe, and towered over Mister Hutner’s comparably smaller figure. “Tell me, old lad,” he said infuriatingly. “Have ye ever seen up close the difference between the blood of a man ‘n’ the blood of an orc?”
The entire tavern had gone silent. Every single pair of eyes was on them.
Mister Hutner hesitated for a second, but his false sense of pride overcame him.