Brakk stood in the shadows of many things – his ancestors, the public humiliation of having Jasmine reject him at a Council meeting, and most recently, losing a fight to a low-level human. Currently, however, the shadows that surrounded him were far more literal. Brakk stood inside the mouth of a cave in a small cove along the Maree cliffs. He’d searched the shoreline for any sign of Rockland Azariah Hall, but the runt had disappeared without a trace. With any luck, he’d been swallowed whole by some monstrous sea beast and was slowly being digested at that very moment. It was a comforting thought, but Brakk knew better. The human was alive. He was too slippery not to be.
Brakk touched the wound on his face, gingerly. The damned thing refused to heal. He had bandages wrapped diagonally around his head, covering the gash left by the human’s dagger. Brakk didn’t understand it – at his level, any wound should heal within a day, at most. He’d had broken bones heal in less time than this. He wondered if the human had coated his blade with some sort of poison, but that seemed unlikely as he had no notifications of being inflicted with any effects.
That blade was dangerous, he decided. The human wielding it was weak so the blade had to be impossibly sharp in order to damage him. More than that, it seemed as though his flesh hadn’t been sliced as much as it had been destroyed. He suspected that was the source of his inability to heal. There was nothing there to heal in the first place. The bleeding had stopped a long time ago around the edges, but the wound refused to close. It was as though the dagger had staked a claim on his face. HIS FACE. When he inevitably killed the human, he would claim that blade for himself. In the right hands, it could be very powerful indeed. The exact same could be said for Jasmine.
His wandering, lustful thoughts were interrupted by the unwelcome but familiar sound of large, feathered wings beating the air into submission as a young harpy landed just outside the cave. Brakk screwed his face in annoyance, took a deep breath, and then put on his most dashing of smiles.
“Ah, Dera, my love. Finally, you arrive. I was worried you may have been discovered,” he said. His Charisma was working overtime to disguise his annoyance as something closer to genuine concern.
“Mother had a guard following me again. I had to lose him before I dared come here, beloved. I’m sorry I made you wait. Brakk! What happened? You’re hurt!”
“Just a scratch I picked up from an enemy. Nothing to ruffle your feathers over,” Brakk played at being stoic.
Dera stepped up to him and touched his face. He held back a snarl as she looked him over with growing despair.
“This is more than a scratch, beloved! Did you kill the man?”
Brakk clenched his jaw and ground his teeth for a moment before answering.
“No,” he said. “He managed to escape. For now.”
“Was it a human?”
Brakk’s eyes narrowed as he turned them slowly back to meet hers.
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that mother had a meeting with a human, recently. He showed up to the volary unannounced,” she said, dropping her hands from his face and wringing them nervously. She could sense his displeasure at the question but couldn’t piece together why it would upset him so deeply.
“I see,” Brakk said, regaining a bit of his composure. “What did this human look like?”
“I…didn’t see him myself, beloved. Everything I know I learned second hand. He came in with two guards, who escorted him to see mother. Everyone in town saw him…he was some sort of emissary, they say. Shortish, and underfed.”
That certainly sounded like Rockland. A short, malnourished human could be just about any of them, really. They were all short, by orc standards. The majority of them were also either built like walking twigs or talking slimes with legs. Brakk had seen a few of the so called “heroes” among humanity, to be sure. They were, however, such a minority among the race that Brakk scarcely considered them humans at all. They were more like baby orcs. The “emissary” part was intriguing, however. He’d had a chance to inspect Rockland and the System identified his class as exactly that – Emissary. It almost had to be him that gained an audience with the harpy queen. The only thing that bothered him was the timeframe. How would he have fallen off the side of the cliff, plunged into the ocean, and climbed his way back up to the volary all in the span of a few hours? Either Brakk was severely underestimating the man, or it was a coincidence of epic magnitudes. The worst part was that he genuinely could not discount either possibility, at this point.
“Dera,” he said, softening his tone and taking both of her hands in his own. He pulled her hands up to his heart and held them there until she met his gaze again.
“I need to ask you a favor. This man…this emissary. He may be the one who did this to me. He’s exceptionally dangerous, my love. If he is meeting with your mother, you are both in very real danger. It breaks my heart that I am not allowed to come to the volary to protect you, myself.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away again sadly. “Mother would never allow it. I’ve been trying to get her to see reason, but she is just so stuck in her ways.”
Brakk put one finger beneath her chin and gently pulled her gaze back up to his own.
“She loves you, Dera. She fears for your safety. As do I,” he would allow her to make her own determination on what that meant…though he was sure that a young woman would secret that away in her heart as an unspoken ‘I love you’.
“I know. What can I do? I feel trapped in the middle between the two of you. I want to be with you, Brakk…but so long as mother is Queen, she won’t allow it. Her prejudice against the orcs is too deep.”
“Then we must make her see reason by proving ourselves to her. The favor I spoke of a moment ago may achieve just that. But…no, it’s too much. Forget I said anything.”
If Brakk were a better man, perhaps he’d feel sorry for the girl. He was pulling out all the classic moves and she continued to fall for every single one. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would not just trip over the trap he’d just laid but pounce upon it willingly. He suppressed a smile as she fulfilled his expectations immediately.
“No! Tell me what you need me to do, beloved. If the man is strong enough to do this to you, he has to be dealt with!”
“Indeed, my love. But we have to be careful about how we approach the situation. This human is guileful. If we try to take him head-on or confront him in any way, he will undoubtedly turn it to his advantage.”
“What should we do?” Dera asked, throwing herself at him and burying her head in his chest.
“We need to learn more about him. Every man has a weakness. We must discover his.”
Dera backed away slightly from him and craned her neck to meet his eyes.
“There isn’t much more that I’ve been able to learn. The only other thing was that mother flew him home, personally…but I don’t know where or in what direction, even.”
“Well,” Brakk said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, “then that is the first thing we must learn. If we can find out where he lives, that will tell us much about him. Do…do you think you might be able to find that out for me, my love?”
“I will ask around,” she said, firmly. “My informants should be able to at least tell me which direction she was headed.”
“That would be very helpful indeed. And…once you’ve discovered the direction, maybe you can take a little day trip to see if you can find this viper’s den. I do worry so about you with him roaming the wild and poking around the volary. And your poor mother! I dread to even consider how he’s burrowing his way into her graces.”
Brakk was laying it on thick, now. He knew he had already baited her with the story. A few more tugs on her heart strings should set the hook firmly in place. If only he were just a little bit more of a thespian, he could shed a single tear. She would give him her very soul if he could pull that off. But alas, it was not to be. So, he would rely on the tropes of every ballad and tragic love story ever written.
Dera agreed to scout the area for him. Of course she did. She was young and in love, and he planned to use that to gain every advantage he possibly could. Eventually the mother would relent and allow him entry to the volary. Mothers always did. Then, it would only be a matter of time before he staked claim to the volary as his own under the guise of partnership. Even if he had to marry the little bird in order to do it. With the harpies under his command along with the orc clans he already controlled, no one would be able to stand against him. Not Rockland, not Slagfall, not even Jasmine herself. He would have his vengeance, and the little bird would deliver it to him.
He kissed her for long moments with her back pressed up against the cold and damp cave walls. His hands roamed her body as though the goosebumps on her skin were braille and he wanted to learn all there was to know of her. Gentle kisses and soft embrace turned hungrier and more emphatic until the two were nearly devouring one another. Sharp talons emerged from her fingertips to scratch down his arms and back. Brakk’s hand found its way to her throat, and he pushed her back even more firmly against the wall. She moved to unbuckle his armor straps, but he caught her hands and took a deep breath.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered into her mouth.
“But I want to,” she breathed back into him.
“So do I. But we should stop,” he gave her one last kiss and pulled back, holding both her hands in his. “Your honor is important to me, Dera. We should wait until I’ve earned your mother’s blessing.”
Dera was torn between swooning and crying out of frustration. She was, he knew, putty in his hands in that moment. He had her heart, and now he’d just stolen her trust as well. There would be no escaping the cage for this little bird. Even as she took flight from the mouth of the cave to return home to her volary, he could feel her yearning for him. Step one of his plan was complete. He spat on the ground inside the cave once she had put enough distance between them. The damned bird was a vegetarian. Kissing her tasted like eating grass. She had the talons of a predator and the conscience of a paladin. It made no sense. But then, it didn’t have to…so long as Brakk could work that dichotomy to his own benefit.
He set up a fire inside the cave and hunkered down for the night. In the morning, he would return to Slagfall to meet with the heads of two clans he sought to enlist to his cause. Jasmine hadn’t just spurned him. She was actively attacking orc culture and the Old Ways. Or, at least, that was how Brakk planned to spin it. He’d tell the old bastards whatever they wanted to hear so long as they’d pledge their sons’ swords to him. He’d lost the first clan war. He had no plans to lose the second.