Chapter 235: One Sided Reunion (1/2)
Mike jumped off as soon as Red landed, putting himself far enough away from the dragon to avoid being unapproachable, but close enough that none of the combative parties would think him vulnerable to attack. While he was waiting for the leaders of both armies to arrive, he took a moment to survey the situation.
The milling chaos he's caused by showing up had largely quieted down now that he and Red were on the ground. Soldiers from both factions were openly staring at him, briefly united by their mutual confusion and uncertainty.
By all appearances, he'd interrupted what should have been a crushing victory for the Almirans. Just going by the number of orc casualties that he could see, one could argue that such a victory had already taken place, but it was clear he'd interceded at the moment the cavalry force was attempting to capitalize on the success of its initial charge.
[It seems I've manged to avoid the worst case scenario, where our allies managed to completely wipe out the Tenundian side. That'd be a bit awkward, right after we'd completed a cease fire. Still, this is going to be difficult to manage diplomatically.]
As he was thinking, a group of about twenty orcs broke free from the circle which had formed around him and Red, and approached. Based on their appearances alone, it seemed like they were composed of two distinct factions. He guessed that these were the leaders of the orcs allied with the Tenundians, along with their escorts.
The members of first faction were dressed almost entirely in leathers, with bones of various sizes and shapes sewn into them. What skin they left exposed was covered in elaborate designs made with a chalky white war paint. This culminated on their heads and faces, which were uniformly shaved and painted with a grinning skull.
The others were wearing darker colors, primarily a mix of greys and browns. While it was difficult to tell, Mike thought these orcs were a little poorer. Something about their pinched faces and thin limbs suggested malnutrition. The only effort at decoration amongst them seemed to be lines of dark red tattooed into the skin of their faces. The meaning wasn't very clear, but he noticed that the orcs that looked to be older and had more scars also tended to have more lines.
[Some kind of status markings?]
Once the orcs were a few meters away, they halted and allowed two of their number, one from each group, to approach. On the left was an orc from the white painted tribe. He wasn't particularly tall or muscular, but had a veritable network of scars on his limbs and face, attesting to a long history of violence. The painted skull on his face had been recently marred by drops of blood. A longbow and a quiver of arrows was slung over one of his shoulders, and several daggers were strapped to various parts of his body.
The one on the right was more of a stereotypical orc leader, standing close to 2 meters tall and probably weighing around 120 kg, primarily of muscle from the looks of it. Although he was only wearing a rough and battered suit of leather armor, his weapon served as a demonstration of his status as the head of his tribe. A massive warhammer rested across his broad shoulders, seemingly made entirely of a dull grey metal that resembled the material used in Brenden's sword. Greasy black hair hung in clumps from his head, and an extensive beard covered much of his jaw, although it was shaved to show off over a dozen of the tattooed lines of his people. The most Mike had seen so far.
”Hmph. So this is the whelp that the manlings are afraid of. Not much to look at.” The larger orc muttered to his fellow with a sneer. ”Makes sense, when you think about the leader they chose to ally with.”
”I would be careful what you say, Jurtrik.” The second replied cautiously, eyes never leaving Mike. ”You never know who might be listening, and whether or not they understand you, even when you speak in our tongue.”
”You worry too much, Huthar.” The orc apparently named Jurtrik said casually, with a wave of his hand.
”And you don't worry enough, which is why we are in this mess in the first place.”
”...You blaming me for this?”
Suddenly tension filled the air between the two, and Mike noticed a shift in both of their stances which suggested that they were preparing to attack one another.
Deciding that it would be best to redirect their attention before their alliance broke down entirely, Mike stepped forward. ”Alright, that's quite enough.”
Both of them snapped their gazes towards him, and he could tell they were shocked.
”You know our ton-” Huthar started before Mike cut him off.
”Yes, yes. I can speak your language, now can we discuss something a bit more important. You are the leaders of the orcs allied with the Tenundians, correct?”
Huthar bristled slightly at his dismissive tone, but evidently thought better about making it an issue. After a few moments, he nodded a greeting and introduced himself. ”Indeed we are. I am Huthar, chief of the Skulltakers.” He motioned to his fellow, ”This is Jur-”
”I can speak for myself, weakling.” The larger orc interrupted, earning himself a scowl from his supposed ally. ”You can refer to me as Jurtrik the Blooded, chief of the Bloodtongues.”
Mike nodded. ”I am the Dragonknight Erasmus. Now, I've come before you all to discuss something vital to the survival of all living beings on the central continen-”
”You're supposed to be strong, right?” Jurtrik cut in while wearing a slightly strange smile. He started leaning forward slightly, and adjusted the position of his feet.
”What in the hells are you doing, fool?!” Huthar exclaimed while taking a step back, as if to remove himself from the danger zone.
”Hmph. You're the fool if you think I'm going to sit here and be prattled at by a whelp who's barely old enough to step out onto the battlefield. Now come boy, and let me show you what a real warrior...”
The orc trailed off and slowly shifted his gaze upwards. A small tremor passed through his body, and his skin paled slightly. Mike didn't have to turn around to know that Red had come up behind him, and was now looming over the meeting in a threatening manner.
”While I appreciate your concerns about my abilities,” He commented dryly, ”I have to ask that you keep them to yourself until such time as we deal with more pressing matters. Is that understood?”
Jurtrik shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, before finally grunting his assent. He turned around as if he no longer cared about the situation, but Mike noted with some amusement that he took the opportunity to put a little more distance between himself and the dragon.
”Having fun?” Sera asked while walking up to join him. She and Tal had apparently climbed down from their perch while he was busy dealing with the orcs.
”More or less,” He replied cheerfully, before leaning over and whispering, ”Although, I'm beginning to see why these guys were losing so badly before we stepped in.”
Straightening, he turned back to address the orc leaders. ”Now, do you know where the representatives for the other side are? I feel like its taking a while for them to get here.”
Huthar shrugged, and then motioned in the direction of a large knot of orcs some ways to the east. ”The last I heard, they were fighting with the rest of the Ashborn over there. We had them encircled until the cavalry arrived.”
Mike scanned the crowd of onlookers, noticing a group pushing their way to the front. It looked like they'd been delayed by the concentration of fighters still milling about uncertainly. However, he saw what an orc and and a human approaching.
He was going to call out to them when they broke through the crowd, but stopped when he finally got a good look at them. A smile started forming on his face unconsciously, as he started walking up to meet them.
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”This time, for sure, I will defeat him. Mark my words. I have been training for this ever since that day.” Talgratha was saying as they approached the dragon. Morris could practically hear the smug grin he knew she was wearing, without even having to turn around.