“You’d be surprised just how badly a cornered rabbit could fuck your day up.” - Old therian proverb.

“You know, I sorta wonder how these bunny rabbits could proliferate and dominate this whole isle so,” said Ognar a week later. The party had since moved from Longshore to another smaller port city on the north-eastern end of the island, only known as the “Place where those with big fangs made shore” in the local tongue.

These days, Ognar has adopted a noticeable image change. The past winter, he had visited his father’s home clan, the Bloodtooths, in the Orcish Plains, and had reconnected with his parents and clan, with the image he adopted these days a reflection of that.

Where he used to dress like most others in Levain before, in near plaid tunics and trousers of wool or cotton, and kept his long hair bound in a single, tight ponytail, nowadays he could have easily passed for one of the orcs from the northern plains.

While he was raised mostly by his human grandparents - his mother had married his father against their objections, but had later reconciled with her parents and agreed to allow one of her children to be raised by them, partly to keep them company in their old age - and had been more used to human customs and habits, Ognar took swimmingly to the nomadic tribe’s culture.

His hair was now shaved close to his head on the sides, with lines of tribal patterns shaved into it. The rest of his long hair was collected into a long high ponytail and two braids that fell along the sides of his face down to his chest, tied together with the sort of trinkets nomad orcs usually used.

He also dressed in leather pants of the traditional style of the plains with moccasins of the same material to cover his feet. His broad, muscular chest was left bare save for a fur vest he left open, which barely covered his upper torso.

Quite a few of the females of the local orc tribe they passed a couple days ago had ogled him openly, and Cal knew he took more than a couple to bed during their stay there that night.

“It’s not too strange, really,” replied Kyara to his query with a smile. As a local to the Isles she was much better versed in the local history than the others. “You probably noticed how the Hornswoggle tribe lived with the Long-ears most of the time? That’s not a new alliance. That’s one that’s been in place for like, most of a millennium now.”

“I’ve noticed, yes,” replied Ognar with a polite nod to the therian matron.

“The Hornswoggles have produced many renowned alchemists, which was rare amongst goblins. You probably wouldn’t know it if you’re not interested in the subject, but the Dragonfire Brew was supposedly created by one of them,” said Kyara relaxedly. “So are many of its offshoots, really.”

“They made that?” asked Giselle with some incredulity in her voice. Most everyone knows of the Dragonfire Brew, an alchemical concoction famed as much for its explosive power as for its horrid instability, considered a tool of last resort for the suicidally brave or just plain suicidal.

“Yep. The Long-ears were one of the weaker tribes despite their numbers back then, especially as some of the larger breeds had recently moved to this isle and were expanding their territory,” explained Kyara with some relish. “That was, until they met the Hornswoggles and struck an alliance of mutual benefits with them.”

“Now, the small ones had always been good with slings, as it was the most effective weapon they could use,” she added. Ognar and Giselle nodded, as they had seen young Long-ears practiced with their tribe’s traditional staff-slings back in Longshore. The staff-slings they used were half again as long as they were tall, and made from the wood of a local endemic tree known for its elasticity. It was difficult to master, but could hurl a stone or lead bullet as far as four hundred meters away in trained hands. “Now imagine if instead of lead bullets, those slings were loaded with sealed glass orbs filled with Volcano Potions.”

Volcano Potions were a later development, an offshoot of the infamous Dragonfire Brew, that while far weaker in power, was far more stable in nature, as they would not explode before they were primed with mana. They were a popular tool for adventurers as a life-saving method or surprise weapon, only limited due to their rather expensive cost for a single-use tool.

Both Ognar and Giselle flinched as they pictured the image of thousands of the Long-ears hurling orbs full of Volcano Potions at whatever foes they faced. It was all too easy to imagine the devastation that would certainly follow, and both of them instantly understood how the Long-ears ended up becoming the de facto rulers of the isle.

The Long-ears were practically omnipresent in the entire isle, though many other tribes also shared the isle with them. The Hornswoggle tribe of goblins were the second largest denomination of the island, and considering the number of half-goblins they had seen, seemed to intermarry with the Long-ears on a regular basis.

Why the isle was commonly called the Market Isle became obvious, as unlike what most of them expected from a tribal society, the island was quite modernized, and focused almost entirely on agriculture and trade as a whole.

The Long-ears primarily served as the merchants, intermediaries, and ambassadors for the rest, while the other tribes focused on producing their respective specialties. Alchemical brews of all sorts for the Hornswoggles, handmade handicrafts for the local orcs, and various other specialties for the other tribes. The arrangement allowed the whole island to thrive together from trade, which these days expanded as far as Alcidea and Al-Shan as well.

Those not in the production of local specialties tended the fields, orchards, and ranches of the island, feeding the populace and ensuring that they remained self-sufficient. As a whole, the Market Isle gave Cal the feeling of being in an especially large village, one where the villagers lived in harmony with each other.