Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Oct 3, 2020 20:24:31 GMT
The old MacAdams warehouse may be abandoned but it isn’t empty. They fill almost nightly with all manner of folk; young and old, familiar locals and total strangers, veterans and fresh-faced adventurers, some looking to make a living and some just bored out of their minds. The fighting pits welcome them all. The crowded space smells of blood, sweat and dubious ale, as well as the straw used to soak it all up. The shouts of the onlookers shake the rafters as a match draws to a close, hands exchange coins and a victor buys a round with money they probably should have held onto for longer than that. Baine would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed it.
When he visited last week, trailing behind as Ghesh was greeted with raised tankards and slaps on the back, he’d garnered several skeptical looks and raised eyebrows. Even without his usual full plate armor he was easily recognisable and a Crimson Fist in the Pits is a rare sight indeed. He soon proved he hadn’t forgotten his roots however, winning his bouts and buying rounds with his winnings, and was back in the fold in no time.
He had been in the middle of a (only slightly embellished) telling of the time he went one-to-one with a hill giant when Ghesh had clapped him on the shoulder and leant in.
“I’m up. Think you’ll be interested in who I’m fighting, mate.”
Ghesh had told him - several times in fact, at Baine’s urging - about the amiable half-orc he’d run into down in the Pits. People even slightly orc were few and far between, especially in Daring Heights. There was Kalta but Baine had only seen her a couple of times. Mystigon didn’t really count, in Baine’s opinion, even if he’d been around. Baine felt the loss of Kamar keenly, like the loss of a limb. He needed to meet this Carlin, if only to feel a little less alone for knowing he wasn’t the only half-orc kicking around in these parts.
Carlin put up one hell of a fight but Ghesh is a storm of fury and scales and in the end, Carlin left the ring defeated but with his head held high. From the other side of the pit, trapped briefly in the crowd, Baine caught a glimpse of several people reaching out to shake his hand as he disappeared out into the night. It seemed he’d have to try again next week.
Like most of Baine’s sparring opponents, Carlin was faster than him but not stronger. He kept up with Baine’s pace though, and held out a good long while before a blow to his stomach knocked the wind out of him and Baine tipped him unceremoniously on his behind in the dirty straw.
There’s raucous shouting and fists pounding on the wooden railing encircling the ring. With a wide grin, Baine wipes the blood from under his nose and reaches down, offering his opponent a hand up. Carlin’s wince turns into a smile as he grips Baine’s hand and pulls himself up.
“A bruise on the arse makes a change from one on the face!” he says in a deep voice like a heavy wagon rumbling over cobblestones. “Well fought, lad.”
Then he turns to the crowd and holds Baine’s hand aloft, prompting a roar of applause for both of them. With a wave to the onlookers, Baine leads the way out of the ring. Someone hands him a small pouch with his winnings and he claps a hand on Carlin’s shoulder.
“You sure gave me a run for my money. Buy you a drink?”
He nods his head towards the collection of ramshackle tables where an energetic, enterprising goblin is busy making a fortune on questionable beverages.
“Why not?” Carlin smiles.
As the two make their way to the stall, the veteran boxer exchanges a handshake here, a slap on the back there, jokes and playful taunts on all sides. He seems utterly relaxed and at home in the crowd of fighters and spectators. Baine puts his hard-earned coin to good use and fetches them a tankard each of something Coll would undoubtedly never serve. Dropping down on a low bench next to the other man he hands over the drink, raising his own in a toast.
“Been tryin’ to get in a fight with you for a while now, actually. Glad I finally got my wish. Cheers.”
With his free hand, Baine reaches up and gingerly prods at his nose to see if it’s as broken as he thinks it is. Carlin clunks his cup against Baine’s and then takes a gulp.
“Ouagh! That rascal Bucket has put something new in the brew today, and more than half a chance it’s a rotten cabbage.”
He smiles again, a split lower lip smearing a little blood over one of his stubby tusks.
“So, been wanting to fight me, have you? Hope I haven’t done nothing to offend?”
Baine shakes his head, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose.
“‘Course not, mate.”
There’s a slight glow around his fingertips and a muted pop as he heals the broken bone.
“Ah, that’s better. Nah, it’s just, y’know. Not many of our kind around in Daring. Ghesh told me about you ‘cause he knows I’m always lookin’ to meet people like me.”
He takes a small sip of ale to try to mask the obvious nerves and makes a face at the truly horrendous flavour.
“Aye, not many around, that’s true enough,” Carlin nods. “Some in town weren’t too friendly to the likes of us after the invasion a few years back. You’ve heard about that business, I suppose?”
Baine grimaces again, at the topic this time.
“Yeah, sure have. I got a bit tangled up in it, actually. But that’s a story for another time maybe.”
He takes another nervous drink before speaking.
“What about you? How long have you been in Kantas? Did you come here before or after the Tide?”
“Before. Early days, me.”
Carlin rubs a big hand over the side of his face, finds a lock of hair plastered there with dried sweat, and tries to smooth it back.
“Had some tough times back home and thought I’d try something new. There were all sorts here back then. A rougher – ack, sorry,” he interrupts himself as the string of hair falls in front of his face and gets into his mouth. He reaches back and unfastens his topknot, shakes loose his thick, greying hair. Baine takes another, slightly larger gulp of ale.
“Rougher town?” he prompts. “Plenty rough still, I reckon.”
“Aye, true.” Carlin pauses a moment, reflecting – or maybe just letting his mind settle. “Here, you got anywhere to be? I’d like to show you something.”
Baine shakes his head quickly and smiles at little.
“No, no curfew. Show me what?”
Carlin stands up decisively and shouts over to the drink-seller, “Ey, Bucket! We’re taking our drinks for a walk, I’ll bring the cups back later!” He turns to Baine, eyes twinkling in his laugh-lined face. “Coming?”
Baine’s smile widens into a grin as he gets to his feet. “Lead the way.”
Under a pink sunset sky, the two men stand in Portal Plaza looking up at a streaked stone statue: a towering, broad-chested figure with long, messy hair and beard framing a scarred, craggy face. The statue’s right hand supports a wicked-looking glaive taller even than the figure holding it. Its left hand rests tenderly on the head of a strange animal, about the size of a ram but sturdier and with smooth skin that gathers in folds around its joints. Its head, which is turned back and upward to look fondly at the tall figure, resembles something between the head of a cow and that of a vastly oversized mouse, with alert round ears and small friendly eyes, and its nose sports a stubby horn. The figure itself is bare-chested except for an apron; and on its stone face is a broad, spike-toothed grin.
The plaque at the base of the statue reads: A memorial to friendship and diversity. In honour of Moth: chef, warrior, friend… hero of Kantas.
Baine has seen the statue many times but never stopped to really look at it. He takes in the orcish features of the man depicted and turns back to Carlin.
“He fought in the Tide, didn’t he? Who was he? Did you know him?”
“A bit. To say hello to, you know. He was a cook in an inn… I don’t remember the name… got knocked down when the town was taken, the owner never came back after that. And an adventurer too, of course – Moth, I mean. He died twice for this town. First time was in a big battle against the Twilight. Stayed behind to hold off the enemy and let his fellows get out, they say. But they brought him back. And then a dragon got him, up in the mountains.”
Carlin pauses, looking up at the smiling marble.
“They fought with us back then, you know. The orcs, the full orcs from the hills here. Against the Twilight. They say Moth was one of the ones who made the alliance. The grungs and the bullywugs too, and the erina, they all fought, and he was there helping win them round. He never lived to see the orcs attacking Daring. I’m sorry he was killed before I could know him better, but I’m glad he never saw that.”
Baine follows his gaze and nods before biting his lower lip and flicking a nervous gaze at Carlin.
“My mum, she- she was part of it. Of the attacks. I never knew her growin’ up. Turns out she left to come here. She got in with the orcs around these parts and she… “
He trails off on a sad huff of laughter.
“I found her. What was left of her anyway. If I wasn’t hellbent on protectin’ this city before that, you can bet I was after. Feels like I got a debt, y’know? A legacy.”
“Mmmm,” rumbles Carlin quietly, still looking up at the statue. “Well, keeping folk safe is a fine legacy. But a heavy load to haul just to pay off someone else’s debts. Not saying I don’t understand, now. When you look like we do, folk act like all you are is what your parents were – well, one of them, anyway. It’s taken me a long time to really believe that isn’t true.”
He turns his head at last, and reaches out to rest a hand on Baine’s shoulder.
“It isn’t true, lad. And I know me telling you won’t make you know it, but I’ll say it anyway. You aren’t her. You didn’t do what she did.”
Baine lets out another huff of laughter, more genuine this time.
“I appreciate you sayin’ it anyway.” He lifts his hand, careful not to dislodge Carlin’s from his own shoulder, and pats him on the forearm in thanks before tipping his head sideways in consideration.
“I mean I guess it doesn’t help that we’re fuckin’ huge and fight shit for fun, but what are you gonna do?”
His dirty laundry aired and put aside, Baine’s usual demeanor returns swiftly. He turns a small grin and a cocky eyebrow at Carlin.
“At least we’re both incredibly good lookin’, so that’s something.”
The older man laughs heartily.
“That’s true enough!” He runs a hand back through his hair. “Aye, I spent many years wondering – I never knew my father, you see, so I’d wonder, ‘What of me is his? My strength? My temper? My hair, my eyebrows?’ But my wife taught me better. ‘Carlin,’ she’d say, ‘None of you is his. Because you’re aaallllll mine.’”
Carlin chuckles at the memory.
“Ah, she was a good woman. Better than I’d any business hoping for. Sometimes you need someone to help you be who you are, you know?”
Baine nods emphatically, his face filled with relief and wonder at Carlin’s words, his story clearly very different yet so similar to Baine’s own.
“Yeah. Yeah, I really do. If it weren’t for some key people in my life I’d’ve been dead in a back alley in Port First a long time ago. Never thought I’d make it this far, be someone like the person I am today. In fact, I-”
He stops abruptly and turns his head to peer off into the night, squinting at something in a nearby street. He makes a series of grimaces before muttering, seemingly to himself.
“Fuck, alright, yes. No, I’m not, shut up. Just, give me a minute.”
He whips his head back around to Carlin, a sheepish look on his face. He points a thumb over his shoulder toward the dark street where a dog the size of a large horse has stepped out of the shadows, seemingly waiting for something.
“I’m being summoned. Bossman wants me for somethin’. Duty calls.” He looks intently at the other man, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before blurting out,
“Can I buy you a drink sometime?” He chuckles at his own nerves and rubs the back of his neck. “A better one than they serve in the pits, even.”
“I think it’s my turn to buy you one!” Carlin smiles. “If you don’t find me at the pit, try at the Pannier in Stoneside. Good luck with your… something!”
Baine gives him a wide grin.
“Pannier. Stoneside. Yeah, okay. That’s great. Yes. To that.”
A single, booming bark echoes through the plaza, startling them both.
“Yeah, that’s my cue. See you around.”
He turns on his heel and stalks off towards the dog. Not only is it huge, it looks smug somehow, in a way a dog shouldn’t be able to. As he goes, he shoots Carlin one last look over his shoulder and cobbles together some of his sparse Orc.
“Don’t do anything stupid without me!”
The enormous dog takes a couple of steps forward, inching its way onto the square proper.
“Oh no, you don’t, you big menace!”
Baine breaks into a jog and grabs it by the end of the large, red handkerchief tied around its neck and hauls it around, dragging it bodily along. The sounds of a very one-sided argument ring out in the night and fade slowly away as they turn a corner, and are gone.
Carling stands for a while, looking after them with a look of fond amusement. Then, eventually, he turns again to look up at Moth’s beaming marble face.
“Well,” he says to the statue. “Ha,” he adds. “Well.”
Then, finding nothing more to say, he gives the pedestal a gentle pat and starts walking home.
Carlin voiced by the fantastic Jamie J 💙
When he visited last week, trailing behind as Ghesh was greeted with raised tankards and slaps on the back, he’d garnered several skeptical looks and raised eyebrows. Even without his usual full plate armor he was easily recognisable and a Crimson Fist in the Pits is a rare sight indeed. He soon proved he hadn’t forgotten his roots however, winning his bouts and buying rounds with his winnings, and was back in the fold in no time.
He had been in the middle of a (only slightly embellished) telling of the time he went one-to-one with a hill giant when Ghesh had clapped him on the shoulder and leant in.
“I’m up. Think you’ll be interested in who I’m fighting, mate.”
Ghesh had told him - several times in fact, at Baine’s urging - about the amiable half-orc he’d run into down in the Pits. People even slightly orc were few and far between, especially in Daring Heights. There was Kalta but Baine had only seen her a couple of times. Mystigon didn’t really count, in Baine’s opinion, even if he’d been around. Baine felt the loss of Kamar keenly, like the loss of a limb. He needed to meet this Carlin, if only to feel a little less alone for knowing he wasn’t the only half-orc kicking around in these parts.
Carlin put up one hell of a fight but Ghesh is a storm of fury and scales and in the end, Carlin left the ring defeated but with his head held high. From the other side of the pit, trapped briefly in the crowd, Baine caught a glimpse of several people reaching out to shake his hand as he disappeared out into the night. It seemed he’d have to try again next week.
Like most of Baine’s sparring opponents, Carlin was faster than him but not stronger. He kept up with Baine’s pace though, and held out a good long while before a blow to his stomach knocked the wind out of him and Baine tipped him unceremoniously on his behind in the dirty straw.
There’s raucous shouting and fists pounding on the wooden railing encircling the ring. With a wide grin, Baine wipes the blood from under his nose and reaches down, offering his opponent a hand up. Carlin’s wince turns into a smile as he grips Baine’s hand and pulls himself up.
“A bruise on the arse makes a change from one on the face!” he says in a deep voice like a heavy wagon rumbling over cobblestones. “Well fought, lad.”
Then he turns to the crowd and holds Baine’s hand aloft, prompting a roar of applause for both of them. With a wave to the onlookers, Baine leads the way out of the ring. Someone hands him a small pouch with his winnings and he claps a hand on Carlin’s shoulder.
“You sure gave me a run for my money. Buy you a drink?”
He nods his head towards the collection of ramshackle tables where an energetic, enterprising goblin is busy making a fortune on questionable beverages.
“Why not?” Carlin smiles.
As the two make their way to the stall, the veteran boxer exchanges a handshake here, a slap on the back there, jokes and playful taunts on all sides. He seems utterly relaxed and at home in the crowd of fighters and spectators. Baine puts his hard-earned coin to good use and fetches them a tankard each of something Coll would undoubtedly never serve. Dropping down on a low bench next to the other man he hands over the drink, raising his own in a toast.
“Been tryin’ to get in a fight with you for a while now, actually. Glad I finally got my wish. Cheers.”
With his free hand, Baine reaches up and gingerly prods at his nose to see if it’s as broken as he thinks it is. Carlin clunks his cup against Baine’s and then takes a gulp.
“Ouagh! That rascal Bucket has put something new in the brew today, and more than half a chance it’s a rotten cabbage.”
He smiles again, a split lower lip smearing a little blood over one of his stubby tusks.
“So, been wanting to fight me, have you? Hope I haven’t done nothing to offend?”
Baine shakes his head, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose.
“‘Course not, mate.”
There’s a slight glow around his fingertips and a muted pop as he heals the broken bone.
“Ah, that’s better. Nah, it’s just, y’know. Not many of our kind around in Daring. Ghesh told me about you ‘cause he knows I’m always lookin’ to meet people like me.”
He takes a small sip of ale to try to mask the obvious nerves and makes a face at the truly horrendous flavour.
“Aye, not many around, that’s true enough,” Carlin nods. “Some in town weren’t too friendly to the likes of us after the invasion a few years back. You’ve heard about that business, I suppose?”
Baine grimaces again, at the topic this time.
“Yeah, sure have. I got a bit tangled up in it, actually. But that’s a story for another time maybe.”
He takes another nervous drink before speaking.
“What about you? How long have you been in Kantas? Did you come here before or after the Tide?”
“Before. Early days, me.”
Carlin rubs a big hand over the side of his face, finds a lock of hair plastered there with dried sweat, and tries to smooth it back.
“Had some tough times back home and thought I’d try something new. There were all sorts here back then. A rougher – ack, sorry,” he interrupts himself as the string of hair falls in front of his face and gets into his mouth. He reaches back and unfastens his topknot, shakes loose his thick, greying hair. Baine takes another, slightly larger gulp of ale.
“Rougher town?” he prompts. “Plenty rough still, I reckon.”
“Aye, true.” Carlin pauses a moment, reflecting – or maybe just letting his mind settle. “Here, you got anywhere to be? I’d like to show you something.”
Baine shakes his head quickly and smiles at little.
“No, no curfew. Show me what?”
Carlin stands up decisively and shouts over to the drink-seller, “Ey, Bucket! We’re taking our drinks for a walk, I’ll bring the cups back later!” He turns to Baine, eyes twinkling in his laugh-lined face. “Coming?”
Baine’s smile widens into a grin as he gets to his feet. “Lead the way.”
Under a pink sunset sky, the two men stand in Portal Plaza looking up at a streaked stone statue: a towering, broad-chested figure with long, messy hair and beard framing a scarred, craggy face. The statue’s right hand supports a wicked-looking glaive taller even than the figure holding it. Its left hand rests tenderly on the head of a strange animal, about the size of a ram but sturdier and with smooth skin that gathers in folds around its joints. Its head, which is turned back and upward to look fondly at the tall figure, resembles something between the head of a cow and that of a vastly oversized mouse, with alert round ears and small friendly eyes, and its nose sports a stubby horn. The figure itself is bare-chested except for an apron; and on its stone face is a broad, spike-toothed grin.
The plaque at the base of the statue reads: A memorial to friendship and diversity. In honour of Moth: chef, warrior, friend… hero of Kantas.
Baine has seen the statue many times but never stopped to really look at it. He takes in the orcish features of the man depicted and turns back to Carlin.
“He fought in the Tide, didn’t he? Who was he? Did you know him?”
“A bit. To say hello to, you know. He was a cook in an inn… I don’t remember the name… got knocked down when the town was taken, the owner never came back after that. And an adventurer too, of course – Moth, I mean. He died twice for this town. First time was in a big battle against the Twilight. Stayed behind to hold off the enemy and let his fellows get out, they say. But they brought him back. And then a dragon got him, up in the mountains.”
Carlin pauses, looking up at the smiling marble.
“They fought with us back then, you know. The orcs, the full orcs from the hills here. Against the Twilight. They say Moth was one of the ones who made the alliance. The grungs and the bullywugs too, and the erina, they all fought, and he was there helping win them round. He never lived to see the orcs attacking Daring. I’m sorry he was killed before I could know him better, but I’m glad he never saw that.”
Baine follows his gaze and nods before biting his lower lip and flicking a nervous gaze at Carlin.
“My mum, she- she was part of it. Of the attacks. I never knew her growin’ up. Turns out she left to come here. She got in with the orcs around these parts and she… “
He trails off on a sad huff of laughter.
“I found her. What was left of her anyway. If I wasn’t hellbent on protectin’ this city before that, you can bet I was after. Feels like I got a debt, y’know? A legacy.”
“Mmmm,” rumbles Carlin quietly, still looking up at the statue. “Well, keeping folk safe is a fine legacy. But a heavy load to haul just to pay off someone else’s debts. Not saying I don’t understand, now. When you look like we do, folk act like all you are is what your parents were – well, one of them, anyway. It’s taken me a long time to really believe that isn’t true.”
He turns his head at last, and reaches out to rest a hand on Baine’s shoulder.
“It isn’t true, lad. And I know me telling you won’t make you know it, but I’ll say it anyway. You aren’t her. You didn’t do what she did.”
Baine lets out another huff of laughter, more genuine this time.
“I appreciate you sayin’ it anyway.” He lifts his hand, careful not to dislodge Carlin’s from his own shoulder, and pats him on the forearm in thanks before tipping his head sideways in consideration.
“I mean I guess it doesn’t help that we’re fuckin’ huge and fight shit for fun, but what are you gonna do?”
His dirty laundry aired and put aside, Baine’s usual demeanor returns swiftly. He turns a small grin and a cocky eyebrow at Carlin.
“At least we’re both incredibly good lookin’, so that’s something.”
The older man laughs heartily.
“That’s true enough!” He runs a hand back through his hair. “Aye, I spent many years wondering – I never knew my father, you see, so I’d wonder, ‘What of me is his? My strength? My temper? My hair, my eyebrows?’ But my wife taught me better. ‘Carlin,’ she’d say, ‘None of you is his. Because you’re aaallllll mine.’”
Carlin chuckles at the memory.
“Ah, she was a good woman. Better than I’d any business hoping for. Sometimes you need someone to help you be who you are, you know?”
Baine nods emphatically, his face filled with relief and wonder at Carlin’s words, his story clearly very different yet so similar to Baine’s own.
“Yeah. Yeah, I really do. If it weren’t for some key people in my life I’d’ve been dead in a back alley in Port First a long time ago. Never thought I’d make it this far, be someone like the person I am today. In fact, I-”
He stops abruptly and turns his head to peer off into the night, squinting at something in a nearby street. He makes a series of grimaces before muttering, seemingly to himself.
“Fuck, alright, yes. No, I’m not, shut up. Just, give me a minute.”
He whips his head back around to Carlin, a sheepish look on his face. He points a thumb over his shoulder toward the dark street where a dog the size of a large horse has stepped out of the shadows, seemingly waiting for something.
“I’m being summoned. Bossman wants me for somethin’. Duty calls.” He looks intently at the other man, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before blurting out,
“Can I buy you a drink sometime?” He chuckles at his own nerves and rubs the back of his neck. “A better one than they serve in the pits, even.”
“I think it’s my turn to buy you one!” Carlin smiles. “If you don’t find me at the pit, try at the Pannier in Stoneside. Good luck with your… something!”
Baine gives him a wide grin.
“Pannier. Stoneside. Yeah, okay. That’s great. Yes. To that.”
A single, booming bark echoes through the plaza, startling them both.
“Yeah, that’s my cue. See you around.”
He turns on his heel and stalks off towards the dog. Not only is it huge, it looks smug somehow, in a way a dog shouldn’t be able to. As he goes, he shoots Carlin one last look over his shoulder and cobbles together some of his sparse Orc.
“Don’t do anything stupid without me!”
The enormous dog takes a couple of steps forward, inching its way onto the square proper.
“Oh no, you don’t, you big menace!”
Baine breaks into a jog and grabs it by the end of the large, red handkerchief tied around its neck and hauls it around, dragging it bodily along. The sounds of a very one-sided argument ring out in the night and fade slowly away as they turn a corner, and are gone.
Carling stands for a while, looking after them with a look of fond amusement. Then, eventually, he turns again to look up at Moth’s beaming marble face.
“Well,” he says to the statue. “Ha,” he adds. “Well.”
Then, finding nothing more to say, he gives the pedestal a gentle pat and starts walking home.
Carlin voiced by the fantastic Jamie J 💙