As you gaze upon the mountains, the peaks seem to breathe down on the city within. A rare mist looms over the stone paths and wooden houses. The city itself is split into 3 sections;
At the base of the mountain is where all the soldiers train and prepare for upcoming battles, the barracks. Home to life-long friends and generations of families carrying the legacy of those before them, and beyond them and the city gates that rarely close, is the denizens of the farms and towns both near and far.
Behind them are home to the people and businesses dotted around this section. The families often being children growing to learn about their clan and parents supporting the clan in various ways, entertainment like music, plays and stories is cherished by all manner of people.
Finally, the mountain is home to the Clan's Chieftain, Haygon Dune, and his commanders where the military plans and meetings are held. Past the market, the steep road leads to their war hall between the 2 peaking mountains of mount Kura.
The wolf clan may be in war, but the culture and pride in their identity are what strengthen them, with the war always shifting the favour amongst war-torn towns, they know when to celebrate glorious wins or hunker down in desperate times. The oldest and most impactful clans within Wrah all own land and fortresses and strategic points;
The Wolves are a legion. An organised army of close bonded warriors, with tactics and famous warriors as their leaders battle to defend their lands within their borders of the Kura plains and Kura mountains.
The Bull clan an engulfing wind of violence, living to raid and pillage the world, they reside in the harsh deserts of Wrah in the south. Though primitive, they fight viciously and are more akin to wild beasts.
The Shark clan are in most part desperate sailors and fisherman trying to survive, but a group within this clan devote themselves something beyond themselves. They control the west and Wrah's only port, if it can be called that, where foreigners and naïve Wrahian's have been found to be missing near river towns and forests.
The Eagle clan have lived in the snow of the north of Wrah for centuries, although no one has seen them in great numbers since their crushing defeat almost a decade ago. They are smaller in number but are feared and respected for their fearless warriors and knack for using the environment for war.
Lions are the proudest of the clans, they are highly skilled warriors and even considered the elite of Wrah by some. They follow an honourable code and try to avoid any unnecessary conflict and happily live in Wrah's centre, void of violence and death.
The Bear clan used to be the strongest presence in Wrah, but a civil war has ripped the clan apart, unrecognisable from their prime. Now they are split into two hate filled factions in never ending conflict that have begun to spill out beyond their own borders.
In the constant struggle to rule the country, the wolf clan currently have truces with their neighbouring clans. For now.
Many clans have fallen, and smaller unknown clans called tribes live under there rule as mercenaries or spies and intel for rival clans in hope of one day rising above the others. As long as more than one of the Clans remains, the war rages on. The war has been fought by many generations, but before the Clans existed, Wrah was just a country drowned in Chaos and Domination. No factions or wars just constant survival and no hope.
-
The gates are open as usual and a crowd spawns almost instantly as the army returns, but the Fang takes his bag over his shoulder and separates from the returning army, where its warriors are being welcomed back by their lovers, children, parents and friends grateful for their return. Quillen does try to follow his brother but the crowd aids in his disappearing act, his shadow melts into the others and his body fades from sight.
"Fuck sake… he's really getting good at that", Quillen sighs. Fuck it, I'll see to the people then.
The Fang slowly ascends the mountain, following the near endless stone path to the Clan's war hall, he looks upon the very aged wooden houses filled to the brim with straw for insulation to keep its people warm in the harsh weather, that's one thing his father says, 'to truly be with the wolf clan is to brave its unforgiving cold.'
His breathing becomes heavier as the angle of the steps increases, putting his legs to work. The pain is a reminder of that night's breakdown. He does not look forward to his father asking about his breakdown, for those around him when he is like that is similar to an arrow being shot straight up, those around have no idea where it will strike, until it is too late.
Once he reaches the war hall's doors, a raspy voice pierces his mind, stopping him in his tracks,
"How'd the battle go, boy?" from the shadows crawls out a commander of the wolf clan; Kaycon.
Kaycon is one of the 5 commanders within the Wolf clan military, he wears a thick navy-blue cloak over his shoulders that hang down to his ankles, its dark blue shade easily fades to black in the shadows. Under his cloak he wears an old faded purple uniform decorated with silver trinkets, like trophies, all varying wolf designs from different ages. His face is rough on the eyes, his unkept facial hair and messy receding hair line also show his blotchy scalp and temples.
He slowly turns toward Kaycon, his eyes are fixed on him like any other enemy, waiting to see what he will try.
"Low number of dead, and I nearly took out their clan leader.",
"Yes, yes great job, killed many an enemy, did you mutilate their chieftain?" Kaycon loves playing with his mind as if it is a game, it's all fun for him until the day he may lose this little game, and die. He is one of the very few who can somewhat understand how the Fang thinks.
"That doesn't matter, I killed enough." He says.
"I guess the question I actually wanted answered was how many of ours did you kill. Ha I mean, I heard that bloodlust of yours got out of control again didn't it? People are starting to say you need a leash. Again. I am only saying this because it has been circulating around our people that the dog of the Wolf clan has to bee-"
Fang draws his sword to his chin before he could finish, blood leaks out of his stubble and runs down the sword.
"Do I look like a mutt to you!?" Kaycon slowly drops his hands that instinctively raised to defend himself.
"No. I see a wolf, sticking his fucking sword in my neck." The wolf's eyes on the sword's hilt slowly fill with crimson.
"You don't see a wolf; you see an animal, I know you do..."
"Hmm, you are not completely wrong there, but you said… not me."
Quillen creeps up behind Jaco and places a hand on his shoulder. Jaco twists round to see him and realises he has played Kaycon's game again. He reluctantly lowers his sword and backs away behind his brother and curses in frustration.
"Are you ok uncle?"
Kaycon is also the older brother of the Chieftain Haygon Dune.
He sharply coughs then returns to be a commander for the wolves,
"Ah, nephew, you look well. You two have just arrived on time to join the discussion about a big issue that landed at our door this morning." Jaco tunes out and instead cleans his sword, but the blood seems to stick to the sword. Quillen gives his full attention.
"A slave girl found our city." This surprises Quillen, their city is very hidden compared to other clan's cities, the thick mist covers their homes and the harsh environment pushes people away from the wild parts of Wrah, even the animals are considered vicious in this area of Wrah.
"How the hell she did she do that? We're in the middle of nowhere!", Quillen bursts out in disbelief
"It gets more complicated though,"
"How?"
"See for yourself, right now your dad is waiting for you two to witness the meeting and judge for yourselves." Kaycon tilts his head to the clan hall where the meeting is being held. The 3 Dune's walk up its steps, opening the grand doors engraved with wolf designs leading to a room with pillars of similar design, banners and flags hang above all the other commanders.
Their father stands amongst the commanders, on a long table stacked with notes and letters of other business.
Haygon always stands out in a crowd, compared to everyone in the clan he is just complete muscle, pure strength and intimidation, all to carry his legendary sword, Lion's bane. The blade stands as tall as him and is most likely the heaviest sword in Wrah, only he himself can use the blade efficiently, challengers always give in to lifting it high, but one time it burst a women's veins who was close to being able to swing the sword, the best any warrior has done.
He wears a cloak, he is usually topless (because he likes the breeze, so he says) but covers himself when he is working, his boots are dull and scrapped from years of battle and blood. His trimmed beard hangs on his chin and jaw as well as his long blonde hair.
Upon seeing his sons, Haygon's blue eyes light up with joy,
"The Dune brothers have returned!!" a quick cheer erupts and falls before returning to the meetings preparations. Haygon rushes over to them and whispers,
"Ok, I'll give you a run down, I'm sorry, I know you just got back but this is crucial for the clan AND our people beyond the mountains" the Fang is confused by the 'beyond the mountain' people he mentions but none the less he shuffles closer to hear the situation with Quillen. But with little interest.
"This morning, an orcish slave girl approached our gate; cut, bruised and exhausted, she probably kept running till she got here, we have kept her under watch in case she's a spy, but she wants our help. And I believe she is truly here for help, not just for some recon for another enemy."
As he finishes, the meeting begins. Chairs are prepared, and everyone seats themselves, Jaco and Quillen sit at the centre with Haygon. Everyone sits up, paying attention, whereas Jaco sits slouched, sword in lap and food in hand. Quillen smiles as he looks round, always loving his brothers "don't give a fuck" attitude even in serious situation. Wait, where did he get that chicken leg?
The reason for this situation being a problem is because the cities of each clan are secretive of their homes. Intel on the military, morale and weak points in the stronghold are crucial to taking a clan down. A fall of a stronghold usually means the end of a clan for good. So far none of the original clans have fallen.
The door opens once more, the orcish slave walks in, head down, teetering towards the commanders and into the middle of the room in front of the table, Jaco glances up and is taken by surprise.
She has slave chains on her neck, wrists and ankles, her clothing is ragged, ruined, old and covered in dried blood. The clothes themselves are maybe even too small for her now.
Her body a frail mirror; broad, strong frame but hollowed; her cheeks sunken in and hair shorter than the Fang's own, all matted and messy. But there is something to her, like her facial features and darker skin tone resembling more of a Wrahian's instead of an earthy green tone of Orc's.
But what caught Fang's attention is her eyes. A soft orange with feint floats across her pupils. He sees a scared girl, behind the vibrant eyes she shifts her eyes erratically around the room, her posture shows no will left in her, exhausted, tired, and done with it all.
He sits up slightly.
"You don't have to hear my story, but please listen to my people's. I'm from a once small village that served under your rule, we were loyal, but were attacked by a group of slavers that destroyed our village and kidnapped anyone that wouldn't fight, which was most of us since we were just farmers."
Haygon interrupts "hold on, I remember that, the village was burned down, no bodies were there, and no blood was spilled from what we could see, I had just turned chieftain when it happened!"
"It was an Orc group who raided us."
This sends shock to the whole command at the table, orcs can be vicious because of their past tyrants tainting their once friendly culture into a split race of those that are hunters and the prey they tormented.
Orcs are like Wrahians in their structure but that is it. Often their muscles larger than most and often have a furious temper, but almost always Orcs are big friendly giants that love their drink and are very merry. What complicates it more are the different sub races within the Orc race that people seem to often mx up, of course the worst side of the Orcs is remembered more than their deeds.
This Orc group is definitely not the jolly kind however.
"For years they made us slave away at making their food, entertaining them and capturing more people, they kept capturing more and more, we barely got by alive in their cramped cages and little food they spared."
"What's this got to do with us though?" Kaycon stands, challenging the girl,
"We have enemy clans to focus on and we can't waste our precious resources on the possibility of this unproven threat." Haygan raises his hand. Like a dog following a masters command, Kaycon silences himself before his brother tells him off.
"Let her speak Commander Kaycon." He slivers back in his place in silence, but the commander quickly bows low to the girl.
"My apologies young lady, please continue."
She fidgets with her shackles as she composes herself, her gaze is on the Fang as things settle. She sees a beast in armour, reminding her of her captors she despises, but she feels pity for him. He seems to be sad, or maybe even hopeless, like...
He cannot help but drift off mentally, the way she is and holds herself makes him thinks about a deeply buried image in his head he never knew he buried.
He regains his composure when he senses her staring at him, his intimidating stare returns. She returns to the story before he catches her eyes.
"My mum was still a kid when she got kidnapped, lots of us had been taken and forced to work, eventually they were forced to breed, some of us were picked out by the orcs and forced us to- umm… have -"
"You don't need to give detail to that, we understand.", Haygon knows what they do, it is a rare and desperate attempt to increase heads in an army. She takes a breath and continues,
"After a recent breakout, a few died, and the rest gave in, but my mother gave me a chance to escape, she lifted me over the camps walls and stayed back to fend off the slavers to give me time to run, she did it for me, to be free for the first time." A tear escapes her eye, she quickly catches it with her thumb," I've spent days trying to find you, facing Wrah's cruel weather and I want to ask if you'll save my people, and destroy the bastards who took away our future."
Haygon rises and his commanders follow him outside to discuss the matter. Chieftains have a close circle of friends and trusted allies to operate the clan army. In the Wolf Clan the new chief would appoint 5 commanders known as 'the Claws' who would serve directly under the leader, leading the armies and help decide political matters. The Claws are Kaycon. Khan, the previous chieftain's past strategist. Quillen. B'ray, a man who is a descendant of one of the 3 oldest Wolf clan families. And Thee, a very proud and loud women. B'ray is first to speak his mind,
"The decision is complicated. Do you trust an orc to eliminate a future threat to the clan but potentially be led to a trap, jeopardizing the clan?" In time they agree to help but discuss the course of action tomorrow.
Khan already has a plan, he is always a step ahead,
"We need time and intel to plan this in a way that doesn't end with us becoming slaves ourselves." Haygon smiles and says,
"Unless that's part of your plan you sly bastard haha" Khan laughs, his reputation of being a harsh and resourceful commander is very well known in the clan.
"If you're serious about clearing out the bastards, why not throw in the vanguard and a pissed off Fang?" the commander Thee suggests, but everyone seems to avoid that option like a land mine.
Kaycon slides into the conversation, now with renewed interest in the matter,
"I say we scout the place first, or capture an orc or 2 and torture them for information. It will save losing any of our soldiers." Haygon is taken back by his brother's sudden support but is grateful for this change in heart.
Haygon looks at the Claws "Ok. Then we will discuss this more after giving us all time to plan and think."
-
Fang is left alone in the war hall as the commanders went for their private meeting, leaving him to stare down the orc. He reads into her movement, waiting for the moment she might drop the act. But he cannot see it. Instead he is met with a weak smile from her, with those same eyes that make him feel weird, as if its mirror somehow.
He shakes his head like an itchy dog and runs for another chicken leg somewhere. I must not be eating enough.
He fails to find more food as The Claws and their leader enter, with Haygon prepared with his answer.
"We feel it is right to help your people, we failed your people years ago, I won't fail their descendants."
She collapses in joy, crying silently on her knees. Her goal to help her people now complete.
"Please, stay for as long as you wish till you recover." They take her outside to a temporary tent to rest.
The commanders dismiss and return to their duties, Haygon grabs his sons though as they leave, he is happy to be reunited with them, a giant grin spread across his aged face,
"Ha, Quillen you seem to have grown again! OK now that we are done, we should catch up for the weeks lost with a drink!" Fang slips out his hug, moving towards the steps away from his family,
"I want to train instead, if you don't mind?" Haygon saw it coming, but he always tries to have him socialise. Haygon nods and walks off with Quillen, but not before he gives Fang a disproving look. As the lone warrior begins to descend the mountain, the sun dies down and the chill begins to cling to his bones.
He walks down the cold steps slowly as his family jogs to the feed halls. He can't help but keep thinking of what the girl said, and how he could see she kept something back, a pain she kept to herself, a suffering he has never seen before. No. I have seen it before. As he descends with his thoughts, his head begins to pound faintly, it only builds up his anger. She reminds him of something he wishes he changed. Something he wished he killed.
"Hey boy, I have a favour to ask…" Kaycon catches up to the Fang as he stands still on the steps beside a deep, dark alley he nearly wandered into. Kaycon cautiously approaches him, he starts his proposition,
"She's could be a danger to the clan, your father, your brother, and especially YOU, what if she runs to the Shark or Lion clan next? We'll all be in trouble if she distracts us with these orcs and we are attacked. It could lead to a lot of people getting killed.", his head stings, but he turns around and says,
"Yeah, she is a threat."
"Then we both agree on something for a change. You must know that you can help protect our people, they would be grateful, they would praise you for doing what we both know needs to happen." The Fang's breathes are deep as if they will quell the pain.
"I will… I will do it… I want to kill something anyway…"
He walks away from his uncle, his daze leading him to stalk the streets of mount Kura.
The barracks where he stands have fallen quiet and dark, the night hiding his bloodlust, eyes burning with a desire to kill.
Creeping into the lone dimly lit tent, he crouches and opens it up, seeing the orc sleeping. She is still, almost like a corpse. The words echo again, and again.
kill. Kill. KILL.
He kneels next to her, his sword to her back, one push and her heart would be still like her.
This is not the first time he has done this. For every threat he takes out, it is a way for the clan to look at him less like a monster, not that I care. From travelling merchants to friendly, helpful mercenaries, she is no different than them.
She needs to die like rest.
"I understand you need to do this." his mind snaps out of his trance, she sits in front of him, still vulnerable. She looks death in the eyes. The Fang is frozen, he has never experienced this situation before.
"I know the problem with me finding this place and not belonging here, but I have nowhere to go. You may have already noticed that I am not fully orc. I'm an extremely rare case of orc, a half breed, a hybrid. I should be a full orc. When Wrahians and Orcs breed, it should always be an orc. But not me." She shuffles closer
"The orcs saw me as a weak, inferior Wrahian slave. To my people, I was one of the orcs who took away their freedom and killed their families. I was outcast to both my races." She silently cries as she reveals her pain. The tears drip onto his sword and flow down to his hand like blood. "I'm neither Orc or Wrahian, I'm alone. Destined to be enslaved all over again. Or worse. So please," she grabs his blade and lifts it to her chest.
"Do it. Kill me." He is shocked, he has killed a lot of people, among them, victims have screamed for their life, begged till the end, and there was those who sought his death.
But someone who accepts death? A person who didn't want him dead, who didn't see a monster in him, but a form of salvation instead. It didn't feel easy to kill her anymore, even though she wanted to die.
She closes her eyes, awaiting death, a final breath before her eternal sleep. His head spins with thoughts, a part of him wanting to do it, another wanting to gut her first and play with her blood. But a feint memory calls out.
A boy in the dark covered in blood, surrounded by nothing but defeated corpses. Laughing accompanies his cries. He is alone, amd fearful, or excited, for of what they will make him do next. A large figure affectionately places a hand on his sweaty hair. He smiles and beckons something else to be thrown in the room with him. The boy instinctively grabs the broken blade piece. Then in a blink, in front of a shocked and unamused crowd he holds a woman in his older hands, she bleeds profusely, her neck forming a river to her twitching, talon like fingers.
The girl opens her eyes to see her killer crawl out the tent quickly, leaving his sword and disappearing into the night, leaving blood on the floor, but it is not hers.
She picks up his sword, looking at the clean blade, the wolf hilt stares into her eyes, the blood in them is washed away with her tears. She places it down and sinks back to her covers, the sword right next to her as some form of comfort maybe, she wonders who he really is, and why he let her live.
He sprints back to his own house, barging past none the wiser citizens under the full moon. He finally finds his house and slams the door to keep out that foreign feeling, then he tries to bandage up his right arm that he sank his teeth into. He resorted to harming himself to return to reality and escape the nightmare that dug its way into his mind again. He was terrified. He was so vulnerable in front of her.
He just sits on the cold but smooth floor in his empty house, feeling broken. But not defeated. She was outcast to both her races, he is an outcast to the people he fought and killed for, that shared experience brought up something, long buried in his twisted and distorted memory.
He felt like he was missing a limb since he left his sword, he knows he must go back and get it, but not till tomorrow. The rest of that night would be a conflicting battle in his mind on what to do with her in the morning.
Meanwhile
"YAH!"
The feed halls' decking shudders under the weight of the axe, Jarjo flips aside from its arc, vaulting over chairs and candles nearly singeing his flowing long black hair.
Jarjo is a skilled warrior of the Wolves. His hair parts down the middle and stretches down past his shoulders. His fiery brown eyes burn through his face paint, his face is caked in white but is broken by 4 charcoal lines vertically cutting down his face like a wolf's claw had dragged down his face. He is very short, looking like a child amongst his peers, but he is quick and agile, hence why he lacks any armour aside from that on his arms, the plated gauntlets minimal, only covering his forearms, the back of his biceps and his shoulders. He doesn't even wear the clan's basic standard cloth, he wears a worn and old one-piece uniform for blacksmiths, the leg & arm sleeves compactly rolled up as well.
"Nearly." He lets out a nervous laugh, "But let's do this is at my tempo… Please?" He flips his batons in the air, the silver hand guards mesmerising and the spiral tips hypnotising.
Jarjo's opponent, Hik, tugs at the leather shaft of the axe, it rises from the split wood and the crescent moon blade returns over her shoulder.
"Hey, you started this, so let's give everyone a show haha." Hik reaches out for her drink and lifts it over her mouth, trying to aim as much of it in the gaps of her helmet.
Hik's helmet resembles a skull, the gaps akin to a crooked toothy grin, her mellow green eyes stand out over the black make up she wears under the mask. Her long brown hair is packed into her helm but peaks out under the mask above her strong shoulders. She wears large iron boots that rise to her knees, her standard wolf shorts lead to her long sleeve shirt, the left sleeve rolled up to fit on her gauntlet that stretches out over her knuckles.
"I hate sparring with you when you're in a good mood…" Jarjo takes up a fighting stance as Hik throws the pint over her shoulder.
As two of the Wolf clans finest warriors begin sparring, the Commander B'ray tells tales of past Wolves. In a crowd, he does not stand out. He wears the regular wolf armour given to recruits, but it is well maintained, a symbol of his pride and love for the clan, it barely has any dents or scratches, its beautifully polished but the deeper chops show his near-death experiences. Each one a story worthy of his family's rich history as guardians of the clan.
His face is peppered with short stubble, his balding head shows the scar that almost took Quillen's life when he was young, he wears it with pride, a sign of his loyalty to the Dune family.
"and that's how my grandfather Z'ray helped save the Chieftains father! The previous leader of the Wolf clan, may they live on in our history! My family will always stand by the Dunes!", The children around him cheer, but immediately scatter to scrounge the fresh food set out, like a cloud of ravenous locust. Soon however his friends and close allies close in now.
"Hey B'ray, whit stories you got fur us now eh?" B'ray grins, he knows what they want,
"How about the origins of the Wolf clan tonight?" they gather around his table, drinks on the table and all eyes set on him like the prophet of a god spreading his gospel.
Hik swings her axe behind her. The wooden shaft nearly taking out Jarjo's head, he dives down, rolls forward and shoulder bashes Hiks gut, but to no effect. She takes it and grabs him before he can recover. A hand clamped round his shoulder like a vice, she lifts him up and slams him on a table,
"Ha, I've lifted armour twice as heavy as you shorty!" she downs another drink nearby as Jarjo stands. Fortunately, he landed well and the table didn't snap, and she had her back to him now…
He readies himself for a run.
"Before clans, Wrah was nothing but utter chaos.," B'ray began," No clans. No trust. It used to be just small groups fending for themselves against Wrah's perilous wilds! The people were cold and heartless, they took what they wanted by fighting, it never ended. Those who actually cared and tried to save people were back stabbed, toyed with by malicious monsters. Child hood wasn't the fun and adventure you see in kids now, it was learning to survive, to outlive the kid on the other side of the woods." B'ray raises his head, hopeful eyes looking back into depressed stares.
"but change came when -" a thump then a crack breaks the tale, the table collapses under Hik's body after Jarjo drop kicked her from behind. She rips off her helmet for a clear breath, her hair sticking to her scalp and cheeks.
"HA, ok shorty… now I really need to give yo- ah shit sorry sir." B'ray bursts out of the shock with his laugh, the wrinkles around his eyes deepen and presents a sweet stained smile before he helps her up.
"No, no, that was a good scare haha, c'mon kick his ass or you owe these folks drinks if you lose…" Hik looks to the crash site, jugs and pints all over her impact zone, she looks up to the group of 23 people, with stern looks on their faces.
"My bad!" In 1 swift motion she slides the helm on and charges at a cocky Jarjo.
In the back of the feeding hall, the throne of the chieftain lies empty. Haygon sits at the bar, arm wrestling 3 of the clans' strongest labourers. At the same time. Quillen watches on, but his attention is occupied by the talkative folks around him. Some of them with "slightly" revealing dresses, others just getting 'comfortably' close with him.
"I really love the armour; you look all big and strong under in there." The man to his left says as he traces a finger down his chest, Quillen grins,
"Oh, we can maybe see about checking underneath, I'd hate for you to doubt how strong and… big I am…" he draws closer to his lips and closes his eyes.
"Ooooh smooth SON!" Quillen's turns around with an unamused look on his face, aimed right at his father, Haygon gives him 2 thumbs up and a cartoonish smile. Quillen's turns back around to just watch him giggle away with his friend, then they fade into the crowd behind him. His shoulders slump and he plants his elbows on the bar and he downs his drink.
He then spits that drink back out as his father joins him and slaps his back with the force of a charging horse. He bursts out laughing again, this time Quillen joins him,
"Well that wasn't awkward in ANY way haha. Oh, and you owe me drink father." Haygon calls another at the bar boy, then his smile drops and he closes his eyes,
"Your brother…" Quillen eyes up his fresh pint but nothing else, he is going to need it after this talk,
"I heard about that outburst at the fort, heard from across the table so I asked around. You didn't fucking tell me he lost it. Twice." His voice boomed slightly at the last word, his eyes flickered with fury, Quillen cannot lie to his father right now.
"I'm sorry, I should've said hours ago, but what can we do? Keep him under your feet like a dog, AGAIN!" Quillen imitates his father's authoritative voice. Haygon stares at him for a couple of long seconds.
"Hm. At least you have a chieftain's lungs. You'll be heard by the people at least," The pressure of successor hit Quillen harder than that slap on his back, no matter how many times he brought it up.
"So, what do you think I should do with him?" Quillen deeply sighs and reaches for his drink. Which is swept away as Jarjo slides across the bar top. Quillen lets out an even deeper sigh and just holds out his hand, holding that ghostly pint. I'm not getting drunk tonight either by the looks of it.
Jarjo just stares up at the chandeliers above as the momentum of the slide halts half way up the bar, what the fuck is today?
He lifts himself up, completely drenched in alcohol and sauce all over his hair, he shouts "FUCK THIS. I'm done!"
The hall fills with laughter, as Hik helps clean up Jarjo as best she can, as they laughter dies, they both bow down after their performance. Haygon's mighty clap overpowers everyone else's and he approaches his warriors.
"Great performance my wolves, it's good to see you strive to get better and better, maybe next time you can take me on?" they both violently shake their heads.
"Oh c'mon mum! You could take the chieftain!" the bar boy leans over the counter next to Hik. Her teenage boy's cheeky grin melts her tough exterior. She smiles, but realises,
"Wait a minute you little shit. Don't set up a fight between us!"
-
The feeding hall returns to normal, drinks flow and laughs peak and drop in seconds. Haygon slowly walks to his throne, greeting the groups as he walks on. Upon arriving at his seat, he spots his brother Kaycon looking longingly at the solid iron throne, his eyes sorrowful.
Remember big brother. YOU did this to yourself, I never wanted to be the Chieftain, dad forced this on us.
Haygon nods at his brother, but Kaycon just ignores him. Slowly he rises and leaves. No goodbyes or small talk with any of the wolves around him. Just the ripple of his cloak as he fades into the cold night.
Haygon can only lean back in his throne and sip his whiskey. Hmm, this is a lot bitter than what I wanted.
"Mister B'ray sir?" B'ray looks down at a scruffy but cute kid, his wide blue eyes under curly red hair reminding him of his now deceased best friend. Damn I mess that cheeky bastard.
"What's up kid?"
"I was listening to the story of the wolves, and was wondering what happened." B'ray chuckles and gently lifts the curious kid onto his knee.
The kid looks around to a serious looking Quillen, arm wrapped around his drinks and looking at Hik across from him with suspicion, but she is just joking around with her lover and their boy, comparing Jarjo's size to her son's as they stand back to back.
"Well son, someone had enough. People call them a deity, other clans claim it was their warrior, but we know it is the first True wolf, Kura. Whoever it was, they were so powerful and skilled, they would explore the land to defend the innocent and destroy the monsters who wouldn't change their ways. And we followed them, loyal to our saviour. In time the clans had begun to form after seeing its deeds and actions. They knew they could not beat it alone. Then it disappeared. No goodbye. Just their legacy that they left behind. From the void it left we, the Wolves, were born. One of its apostles, the first chieftain, brought us under one banner. We remember what the hero displayed. Courage, loyalty & love." He drops the kid back on his feet and slides down on his knees.
"Now, remember this story, and understand what it truly means to be a wolf." And with that he gives the kid a copper coin and watches the kid slowly walk away, clearly transfixed by his gift and unable to spot the intoxicated couple he bumps on his way.
B'ray chuckles again, returning to his friends and family at the table,
"Right then, whose round is it?"