The orc village was well lit by a large bonfire that burned in the middle of it, illuminating everything with a pale orange light and making the whole thing stand out in the middle of the plains. If Merdon had bothered to check further up the ravine, he would have seen it as easily as they had seen him and Sarel. He felt like an idiot as well a tourist. His eyes were drawn to every detail of the village, just in case it was important. Their walls, for example, were tall, pointed, but crude. There was only one way in he had seen, from the front, and the houses were of similarly simple construction. Wood seemed to be the most common material, each house more of a cabin than anything else. Orcs weren't nomadic after all, no more than the humans of Avant. Decorations consisted of bones, each house having something hanging near the front door. Merdon wasn't sure if it was religious, offerings, a ward, a warning to intruders perhaps. Inside the walls of the village, he was more out of his element than ever before. All of the orcs watching him didn't help things.

Merdon was tall, but not close to being as tall as the shortest orc he saw. The smallest among the guards watching them walk through to the center of town was easily several inches taller than he was. Their size and muscle mass were unrivaled and, as he had told Thickhide before, axes were belted to nearly every single one of them. What few swords he saw were large, too large to be held by human hands, likely for exactly that reason. Claymores were one thing, these were nearly slabs of metal that would crush before cutting anything. Wandering through the town without his shield made him feel uneasy, but Grot had assured him nothing would happen until they had a talk with the chief.

Beyond the citizens watching his approach, the human felt an overwhelming sense of solitude. In a sea of colors, the dark-skinned orc in front of him, the blue kobold beside him, the hues of the orcs around him, ranging from greens to angry reds and down to more dark ones like Grot, he was the only human. He wondered how dragonkin lived among all these races and never felt lonely and out of place. Twisted though it was, the feeling made him homesick. Their walk wasn't long, the village was designed in such a way the chief's lodgings were a straight shot from the gate, all one had to do was circle around the bonfire to reach it, but in that trip more than any other, Merdon felt isolated. This, he believed, was what it felt like to be captured, and it made him ill on top of everything else.

It was also difficult to not notice the little amenities for kobolds, though the human saw few of them on the streets. There were places for orcs to sit, benches made from roughly hewn logs, but there were also more meticulously crafted ones at a shorter height. He felt a small sadness at the perceived disparity, but then realized the benches had been made by kobolds and it was just a small step to think how much more freedom those kobolds had than the ones in Ardmach. They had jobs here, trades, they were craftsmen. Thievery and servitude weren't the norm for them, and it made Merdon wonder just how far down Avant had kicked the kobolds metaphorically. After all, he'd never heard of a kobold woodworker in Avant, but obviously there were ones here.

The silent tour came to a close as Grot led them into the main cabin and a pair of orcs at the door shut them inside. It had a high ceiling, more than enough headroom for Grot or even taller orcs, and was more than comfortable. Furs decorated the walls and floor. Along with the skulls on the outside of many buildings, Merdon was getting a very tribal feel from the orcs' home. There were many rooms in the big lodge he couldn't see, hallways and a second story it seemed, but the very first room was almost like a throne room. In it sat a single chair, backed by a plush pelt, seated with something equally soft, he was sure. It sat empty at the moment until Grot stepped up and sat down, with his black kobold slinging off his back and standing next to him.

“You wanted to speak with a chief,” Grot said, setting his elbow on the armrest and then leaning his chin on a balled-up hand. “Then speak.”

Sarel blinked in surprise, looking around before confirming, “You?”

“Of course,” the black kobold said, as though it were obvious. “Who else would have gone to deal with a human traveling unattended through our lands? We had to be diplomatic.”

Merdon let out a short laugh. “If that's diplomacy I can see why relations are rocky between you and Avant,” he commented cynically.

Grot shrugged. “If it were me, I wouldn't have ended the war,” he told the knight calmly. “The things you do, how you humes act, it's appalling to everyone with a sense of nature.”

Sarel stepped forward, her claws flexed angrily. “What his race does is not who he his,” she hissed, her tail slapping the ground behind her punctuating her words.

Despite the difference in their size, the kobold's anger caused Grot to sit up more than the human's cynicism. He cared more about her opinions than his, and the black kobold's chuckle told the room how she felt about the display.

“Be mindful of your words, verakt,” the assassin told her orcish mate. “It seems we must work with a hum-an who has his senses.” Her stumbling over the word human was not lost on Merdon, nor Sarel.

Grot, however, nodded. “You're right. Whatever problems the humans have, they shouldn't be applied to this one, not yet. We've heard of what you've done,” he reminded Merdon, looking him in the eyes. “How many did you slay in Ardmach?”

“I lost count,” the human told him honestly. “Skyeyes and I moved a little too fast for me to bother counting, and they hardly fought back. It's a blur.”

The black kobold tilted her head. “Skyeyes? This sounds like a kobold.”

Quickclaw nodded, “A member of our group. He is traveling with another kobold, Red, through Avant trying to raise support from the local kobold populace.”

“Ahh, I see,” the assassin said, leaning against the sturdy wooden chair her own mate sat in. “That is a difficult task. And you have come to seek the aid of orcs. To what end, we wonder?”

Merdon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We've learned a lot about Avant in our travels,” he started. “I've seen the inhumane treatments Avant forces on the kobolds, and the byproducts of such acts. To strike at one group, to try and kill every slaver, would be a monumental task that would ultimately achieve nothing.” Grot nodded in understanding, keeping silent, while his black-scaled mate stayed silent and motionless.

“To that end,” the knight continued, “I've determined the best course of action is to cut the head off the serpent completely. To dethrone the king, and restructure Avant from the top down.” A bold proposal, one with many flaws and loopholes, but it made Grot laugh rancorously.

“So, you expect the orcs will be led by a human? Marched to victory with one of their enemies at the helm of the battle? Replace one hume with another?” he antagonized Merdon, causing the blue-scaled kobold to sneer at the chief again. He ignored her this time. “What makes you think we would agree to such an idea?”

“I didn't,” he admitted. “But, I'm not asking to lead, either the war or the nation.” That caused a touch of confusion to wash across the faces of his debate opponents. “I'm only seeking equality, an end to these pointless hostilities between races.” After seeing the orcs' village, Merdon was thinking Avant hid more than kobold knowledge from the people. Perhaps not intentionally, but through a veil of ignorance misinformation spread like wildfire. People like himself were blind to what orcs were like, restricted as they were, and thus whatever foolish stories they heard were taken as the whole truth. Guilt by omission, but guilt nonetheless.

“And who would take the throne?” Grot questioned. “An orc?”

Merdon shrugged. “Why not a kobold?” Both of the creatures in question stared at the human for the mere suggestion, while the orc chief laughed. His laughter filled the whole cabin with his booming tone and didn't end until he'd pounded the armrest of his chair several times, causing it to crack under the jovial assault.

“A kobold king!” he shouted. “Now that would be something to see. Human, I can't guarantee anything, but you make a damn entertaining proposition.” Merdon bowed sarcastically. “But, entertaining won't win the chief of chiefs over. We need to workshop this idea of yours a lot more.”

Sarel frowned. “Why?” she asked earnestly. “Entertaining or not, Merdon is not asking for something the orcs do not already want.”

The black-scaled kobold nodded, but reminded her, “The last war with Avant ended poorly, and the orcs have a treaty with the humes. Breaking it will cause many serious repercussions unless we are prepared. All tribes must agree to such an act, lest we have cowards who stab us in the back or do not fight with all their strength.”

Grot smiled at his mate's words and said to her, “Shade, show our guests to a room they can rest in. We shall speak more on the matter in the morning. When we're not full of bliss over our fight.”

Merdon wasn't exactly feeling pleased after their encounter. Rather, his head ached slightly in the front, and his body wanted the armor off so he could unwind. Though he was equally unsure such a thing would happen in the orc's village. A place to relax, however, sounded like exactly what he needed, for a time.

Shade nodded and stepped away from the chair, leading Sarel and Merdon down one of the long wings of the cabin. The decorations were less egregious the further they got from the main hall, though they continued to walk on thick fur hides the whole way. Furs were a specialty of the orcs. Merdon suspected every cabin in the village was similarly decorated and covered. For warmth, both physical and emotional, if not status. More furs and skulls meant more seasoned hunters, or so he guessed. It was something to ask Grot about later. When they weren't busy fighting each other, or an army, or anything else.

The room they were taken to was large enough for three humans, which Merdon figured was about two orcs. Shade told them in her soft voice that breakfast was served at the crack of dawn, and the pair should arrive early if they hoped to get anything decent. It seemed even eating was a competitive activity in the orc's lands. Things were starting to surprise Merdon less and less as he heard about them for himself. Stories of the orcs barbaric tendencies didn't seem far fetched while standing in the middle of their town, but he also sensed there was a reason behind them. Customs and culture, not rowdy acts for the sake of being crude. A history Avant had failed, or refused, to see and accept.

As the assassin left the pair in the room, the knight looked around sighed, taking his armor off in the process. The room was nice, warm, a little spartan, but given the orcs decorated with pieces of their prey Merdon wasn't going to complain about a plain room. There were no windows, which Sarel frowned at, given her nature, but the human didn't mind. He'd rather they have some privacy for the night, and once his armor was off he went to test the bed. It was soft enough, they had been provided blankets, nothing seemed out of place or disingenuous. Overall, it appeared to be a good place to relax. So why did both of them seem so agitated?

Merdon knew why he felt that way, surrounded as he was by orcs, the race he had been told since childhood would rather see his corpse than listen. No amount of logic at the moment diffused such an ingrained reaction. It was just something he had to overcome by himself, the same way he'd had to get used to Sarel. Although, she was easier to get used to. He found kobolds to be rather cute, especially compared to dragons or dragonkin. Orcs, on the other hand, were terrifying, in statue, strength, and skill. Still, it didn't explain why the blue kobold was pacing around their room with her arms crossed. The way her tail swung from side to side as she walked giving away her distracted state to Merdon. If she were paying attention, it would have moved less, been more under control.

Naturally, he had to ask her, “What's wrong?” Merdon tapped the bed next to him, offering her a seat, but the kobold declined by avoiding it entirely.

“Shade,” she said slowly. “That is not a kobold name.”

Merdon frowned. “It could be short for something,” he offered, but Sarel shook her head.

“No, verakt. Would you call me Quick, or claw, for short?” she challenged. The human tested them mentally and frowned. Those did sound wrong. “Exactly,” Sarel continued. “You would, if needs be, call Sarel her name. It is shorter.”

“So, is Shade her real name?” he asked next. It didn't sound like it, but he wanted to cover his bases.

“No,” the kobold confirmed. “It must be a second name, but it is unlike any kobold name. Much the same way she speaks unlike a kobold.”

The knight nodded, but pointed out, “We've met several kobolds like that.” Skyeyes and Red didn't, just for the two easiest examples.

Sarel agreed, but with a sigh, admitted, “Sarel wonders if she should not change. It becomes increasingly difficult to retain a kobold's speech the longer one is with humans. At the same time, it feels... wrong.”

Merdon could understand her difficulties. It was like giving up a piece of her heritage, slipping further and further from her kind. He stood up and walked over to her, kneeling and stopping the kobold's steady pace. The knight put his hands on her shoulders and got her to look him in the eyes.

“Don't change just because you've seen others doing it,” he said softly. “That's not you, and making changes that aren't true to yourself is a sure way to end up sad.”

Sarel smiled at his words and put her claw on his hand. “Thank you, verakt. The notion is sweet, but this would be a choice Sarel makes. Perhaps it is just the nature of change. One must adapt or be left behind for nothing. The way one speaks is easy enough to change. Sarel is just over complicating things.”

Merdon nodded and let go, but reaffirmed, “Don't change for those reasons. Do it because you want to because you think it's a good idea. And, if you don't like it, you can always go back. I'm not going to judge you for how you talk.”

Sarel smiled and accepted his words before recalling what they'd been told. If they wanted breakfast they needed to be up early, and it was already late enough when they arrived. Merdon felt she was distracting him from her worries, but if she didn't want to discuss them further it wasn't his place to push. He simply agreed they should sleep and went to blow out the candles in the room. Before long, they were snuggled under thick blankets, perfect for the chilly, early spring evenings, and the human had his mate wrapped in his arms. Despite all his worries and wonders, sleep claimed Merdon's mind rapidly.

The following morning dawned crisp and clear. A gentle dew hung on the grass outside that Merdon could see as he left the room Grot had provided for them. Sarel was much more awake than he was, her eyes quickly scanning everything. It was the thief who smelled the food first and guided her mate towards it. A large feast sat in the main hall, with many orcs cooking a variety of meats in a huge fire. Grot was seated on one of the giant, roughly cut logs they'd seen walking into the village, and he made eye contact with Merdon as he tapped the spot next to him. As the human moved over there, Shade came by and pulled Sarel to another seat, one of the kobold appropriate ones. The knight didn't like how cleanly they'd been split up, but he was learning to trust the orc chief, and so he let it slide, but made sure Sarel noted his discomfort.

Grot had a whole ham by the bone and eating loudly as Merdon sat down next to him. The human felt dwarfed being anywhere near the orc, but somehow sitting down made it worse. Like he was seated next to an adult while he was a child. As if he needed babysat. Still, he pushed those pointless instincts aside and grabbed something to eat.

“That's bold,” Grot muttered with a chuckle. “Most folks wait for the chief to finish eating.”

Merdon glanced around. Shade and Sarel were already stuffing their faces in the manner kobolds were accustomed.

“I don't see anyone else waiting,” the human admitted.

“True,” Grot said, grabbing another slab of meat. “And you were invited here by Shade, and I'd rather not get on her bad side.”

Merdon, chewing for a moment, asked, “What's the story with you two?”

Grot smirked and started, “We met by complete accident. I was ambushing a slave caravan on the edge of Avant. Illegal, yes, but I'm not one to sit by and do nothing so close to my hunting grounds.”

The knight chuckled and said, “I freed Sarel from a cage down in Sedra, a shady little port town, while on a guild quest. That was before Ardmach.”

The chief grinned and clapped Merdon on the back, causing the human to cough up a chunk of meat. “Maybe you humes aren't all bad,” he praised the man. “Shade wasn't locked up though. She had been riding under the wagon for two days after scaring the slavers silly by killing one of their horses. They ran the beasts ragged and when they finally stopped out of exhaustion, she came up to kill them. Except, I'd already put an ax through one of their heads.”

Merdon nodded, following along. “I imagine she wasn't pleased?” he guessed, and Grot confirmed.

“As soon as she was done stabbing the other hume in the back, she jumped onto me, punching my face.” He laughed at the memory. “She was livid, and she tried to stab me a few times. I managed to get her off me before she did any lasting damage, but that wasn't all the fight she had in her. After two days under a cart, I'd have thought she'd be more worn out, but a couple of times the girl almost got me. Orcs aren't like humes, we don't pay attention to the same things in a mate. Shade was tough, energetic, it takes a lot to make me admit those things.”

The knight nodded slowly. Some humans liked those qualities, but he wasn't interested in interspecies debate at breakfast. “So, what happened then?”

“Well,” Grot said, pondering it. “We scrapped, eventually she settled down and let us help, and when we got back to the village she slept for a whole day. That's unusual for a kobold.”

“Yeah, they usually only need four to six hours,” he agreed, causing Grot to raise a brow.

“You certainly know more than most humes,” the orc commented.

Merdon gave him a sly smirk. “I am the kobold whisperer, and I do have one for a mate as well.”

Grot laughed and took another bite, talking through his mouthful of food. “I'm surprised at that,” he said. “I'd have figured the age gap would put a human off.”

“Age gap?” Merdon asked, confused at last.

Grot, however, slowed his chewing to a stop and looked at the human seriously. “You said yourself, kobolds are closer to dragonkin, and those bastards don't like to die unless you kill them. Kobolds'll live two, three hundred years, easy. Even if yours ain't that old yet, she will be one day. Like us orcs. Most of our chiefs were around during the great war, and that was a couple of you human's generations.”

Merdon paled at the information, his brain nearly blotting out the second part about orcs altogether. Sarel would outlive him by that much? And not just that long, but easily. He looked across at the kobold finishing her breakfast of roasted meats, leaning back and belching with a content look on her face. The human went cold all over as he thought about it. He'd never asked how old she was, it simply never occurred to him. Not that he'd have asked how long she had been alive afterward. His appetite left in a hurry, leaving Merdon with nothing to do but think.