“Where open warfare was deemed not worthwhile, or on occasions where a conflict was more of a formal courtesy rather than true hatred, it was not uncommon for the parties involved to resort to a contest of champions instead. Such a contest satisfied the honors of both parties involved, and kept the likely unnecessary loss of life to a minimum, which was likely desirable given the situation.

Such a practice was not just confined to the circles of high nobility either, as many tribes and clans who still favored living in the wilderness had been observed performing similar practices as well. In their case, it might well be because every life was worth dearly to their survival as a whole, and as such, they attempted to avoid any wastage where they could.” - Excerpt from “The Tribal Life” by Fergus Harrington the IIIrd, sociologist and researcher of tribal society from Caroma, circa 403 FP.

One snowy day late in the winter - winters in the plain were a tad harsher than in Celia’s home village, but it was still relatively mild overall, where it might snow heavily maybe a month at most - Celia bore witness to an unusual sight. That day, she saw a small caravan of orcs who led multiple mounts each approach the village, and the largest one amongst them bellowed words she vaguely understood as a challenge out loud.

Unlike the orcs of the Bloodfang Clan they had stayed with the past while, who generally decorated their clothing and tents with the colors of white and red, the new arrivals wore clothes colored in black and gray. Their skins were also a tad darker in shade, leaning to darker browns and grays in general, compared to the lighter greenish and grayish hues that the Bloodfangs had.

“It’s the Blackshields,” explained Dagna, the younger orc who Aideen had healed on their first meeting, who Celia later learned was one of Warchief Orica’s children, born during her wilder youthful days, and as such considered as a child of the clan as a whole. As one of the first who had met Aideen and Celia and one of the Shaman’s disciples - he was a mage of the mortality affinity like Aideen, though nowhere near as potent - he had helped the younger woman learn their language over the past while. Celia was by no means fluent yet in it though, as such he spoke to her almost like how one would speak to a child learning to talk. “They our neighbors, visit most winters.”

What happened next proceeded almost too fast for Celia to understand properly what just took place. From amongst the Bloodfangs - who had gathered around when they noticed the arrival of the visitors - Warchief Orica walked out straight towards the orc in black and gray. Then she promptly decked him with one of her meaty fists right in the jaw so hard that it threw the other orc’s head back from the impact.

The other orc had not remained silent either, as he returned the blow with a vicious headbutt of his own even as he grappled Orica’s head with both his hands and planted a vicious knee to her gut. In return, Orica grasped her opponent’s whole body with both of her arms and heaved mightily as she tossed him over her head. Her opponent landed hard on his back and was disoriented for a moment, which was an opportunity Orica took as she mounted him and rained blows with her meaty fists to his face.

It took ten whole minutes before the brawl - which the rest of the orcs from either group had simply cheered on rather than intervene - came to a conclusion, as Orica stood triumphant over the mass of bruises that was her opponent. Even so, the orcish matron breathed hard, a sign that it had been a closer fight than what it might have looked like to the onlookers.

Then she extended a hand and helped raise her opponent back to his feet to the cheers of the rest.

“What was that all about?” Celia asked with obvious curiosity. Despite the vicious nature of the brawl, neither orc seemed like they tried to deal any permanent damage to their opponent, and as she had learned, orcs were vigorous and had high endurance. The sort of heavy bruising that the two of them received from that brawl would have healed within a couple days at most.

By orcish standard, it was less of a fight and more of a friendly tussle at most.

“Blackshield come for trade,” explained Dagna in terms Celia could understand with her still rudimentary understanding of the orcish tongue. The young orc also gestured to help convey his point to the young woman, as he pointed towards the heavy packages at the backs of the spare mounts the visitors had brought with them. “We plenty food, they little food. Their lands not much food, so they trade us.”

“I get that part,” said Celia as she nodded. To trade for what one lacked was just a normal thing for her, so instead she asked about what bothered her more. “What about the fight though? I think I heard… a challenge as well?”

“Challenge to satisfy tradition, fight satisfy honor,” explained Dagna as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This way all satisfied, trade good in eyes of ancestor.”

“I’m guessing that’s some tidbits I’ve yet to learn then,” said Celia in her best approximation of the orcish tongue. She knew that she probably butchered the pronunciation of some of the words given how Dagna winced, but she was still learning after all. “What do they trade if their lands are poor, though?”

“Blackshields good with fire, land plenty in metal,” said Dagna as the visiting orcs began to unload the packages from the backs of the beasts. Celia caught a metallic glint from one of the packages that had been partially unraveled. “They take metal from land, work it with fire, bring us good weapons for food. Everyone likes good weapons.”