They might’ve both been surprised if Calia even understood her own thoughts and motivations, but as it were, being close was as vital as breathing these days. Not alone on her own being adrift and lost out in the universe, and not a many bearing the weight of responsibility of hundreds of little lives. Only quiet company in a restful space.
There were no wild dreams or fitful sleep, and thank the gods for that! Calia had also meant it quite seriously that she was done with the underground, practically itching to escape it as if she were starting to feel it attempting to crumble down on top of her. This time it hadn’t come as quickly since he’d been her companion through-out, not like her first trek into the mountains where she felt almost immediately claustrophobic in the rocky tunnels. After several escapades within the caverns, it was definitely hitting now!
Morning in the tower meant a good breakfast and that was as far as lingering went. For once she hadn’t dressed in those black assassin’s leathers, seeming to reflect her desire of wanting some other visual color besides rock, dirt, and more rocks. Favoring an oceanic vibrant blue in that same loose style she seemed to prefer and some simple pants. When they finally stepped out of the tower back to the freshly renewed faerie grove, it wasn’t with flair or even authority… at least not in Calia’s opinion. She’d done just as she had before – swept through like a woman shaped storm, snatching faeries and moving them around. Fixing little details in their rapidly growing homes, and snarling at those who did any amount of bowing or other nonsense that felt far too close to treating her like any sort of helpful leader at all!
Once she was satisfied they’d figure out the rest on their own, it was back to the mountain tunnels at a speed that was determined. At least her mood was light and conversation was easily had, even if Calia seemed to be suspiciously avoiding any subjects that might veer into magic or what she might do about those untethered faelings. She talked about her family and the sort of nonsense she and her siblings would get into. She’d ask about his own family, glad to hear more antics of their own nonsense. Because they both had the stamina of old blood, they could travel long and far without forcing a rest, and when it did come time to actually sleep she insisted on it being the both of them within the safety of the tower. Clearly done with any potential new dangers trying to come at them.
There were moments when conversation waned and she was thoughtfully quiet, not in a worrisome way, but enough that she was clearly trying to work through something in her head. Those moments seemed to be reserved for when he took up residence in her pocket as the shiny beetle or when she herself would shift to the ermine form and drape herself along his neck. Otherwise in the days it took to walk the tunnels – and much to her frustration it did take several days still – she’d read the images along the walls and told him the stories of those who passed through.
When the first fresh wisp of a breeze began wafting through the tunnels, nothing would’ve made Calia pause. They’d finally come through a wide pass that quickly opened up into a valley high in the north. The air crisp and trees turning to bright hues or flaming orange, for they’d somehow lost the entire summer between the deep underground and dealing with other-realm nonsense. Autumn had come.
There was a trade village here, nothing large but it was certainly lively, which mean they’d left an active enough tunnel that it wasn’t odd for a pair of travelers to appear from out the caves. In fact, it was clearly enough a regular occurrence that no one seemed to bat an eye or think twice about it.
Calia was just so glad to finally feel the sun that for a moment all she could do was stand there with her eyes closed and face tilted upwards. Maybe sometimes she cursed being alive, but in that minute it felt so nice to have something other than the oppressive dark musty dankness of the underground!
By no means could he tell you on a map where the hell they were. They were just out of the tunnels, back on the topside of the soil and he’d already made an expressive effort to have altered his form just enough that it wasn’t clear he was that of a horned being. Funny though how he had been accustomed and famed for changing appearances, but he left himself as elf. Devoid of the violet eyes since well, if there were any other elves here, they’d likely rat him out pretty quickly. Leaning to mimic azure that was part of the other branch of his family tree, by all means he was grateful to have been freed from the deep dark, deep down.
Certainly letting lungs coat themselves with the cool autumn air as hands tucked themselves into coat pockets. Peering about and assessing the variety of other beings that were present and properly uncaring to their own existence.
“This ain’t the place yah were lookin’ for, is it?” Asking because he really wouldn’t have known any differently. Especially after the days beneath the mountain!
Blessed be the sun! If they’d come out of the tunnels into forest woodlands, she might’ve stripped down just to take a good naked run under the open blue sky. Hells, Calia was still tempted to do so, scandalizing populations was just about all she was good for these days anyway! Alas, she kept her clothes where they belonged, tilting a quick glance at him before properly examining the road and spread of village surrounding the pass opening.
“No… but we’ve definitely reached the highlands,” she affirmed. Making a big wide grin to see the familiar forms of true mountain people. Caeldalmor itself had lost some of it’s rough edges when the kingdom formed and her ancestor clans settled down into one place. This village was a hodge podge of roaming clan culture. Some structures made permanent because of the location being convenient for frequent trade – those were the ones closest to he mountain pass itself. Taverns and small inns, gear and whatnots. Homes of those that lived in the area all year long to run those businesses as clans moved in and out with the different seasons to trade wares, and trade blood if one were honest! Better to find a husband or wife in such places where you aren’t liable to marry a cousin by accident!
She certainly hadn’t exaggerated about the form of mountain men, being as tall as wild bucks with limbs as thick as tree trunks. Most dressed in long bolts of tartan that wrapped around them in a sash and kilt. Bare legged if not wearing long socks and knee boots. Long manes of flowing hair was only matched by the length of rugged beards! Of course, she might’ve downplayed how impressive the women themselves could be. Strong and hardy, sorts with corded muscle and fine form, with others of such fair features they reminded one of delicate heather. Calia herself seemed to be inbetween the two extremes, mountain strong and mountain pretty.
Calia took to walking, mostly keeping an eye out for the obvious signs of demonic trouble. They’d spent so much time in the underground there was no telling where, how, or even the loose demon hoard had even travelled into these parts of the mountains. She could, however, feel the pull of heart somewhere out there… still even further north. Nor had she forgotten her agenda of speaking with a few of the clan leaders about those dangers and what aid could be had for her kingdom from this side of the mountains.
For the time being, it didn’t hurt to spend some time around living people again. Ones that weren’t thieves, rogues, or vagabonds. Ones that weren’t wide-eyed fae looking at her like some sort of benevolent heroine.
Maybe to even get stupidly, wonderfully drunk and make the right kind of bad decisions!
Her steps deviated just enough to bump her shoulder into Arc’s with a gentle teasing nudge.
“Now about dressing like the local folk…”
He’d not seen a place like this well… likely ever. Of course he had enough history of having both travelled as elf and demon, but this seemed to be quite the nestled little slice of life that didn’t appear to be too bothered by problems. Granted looking around and finding that there were likely more souls able to look him properly in the eye as a tall elf, he doubted there was much in the way of troublesome problems that weren’t solved by a strong blunt blow to one’s skull. If the head didn’t explode upon impact and that was absolutely saying something.
Seeing as his blood was from the hell’s of the earth now, he wasn’t particularly weak. Yet looking at the burly souls that Calia had described probably too well –looking like hairy human like bears than humans- he could have given her a grade for her ability to detail such beings.
But they were only in the highlands, granted that was far better than travelling another few days underground where one didn’t have a fucking clue what time it was!
What he did notice was the theme of be strong. Practically oozing from male and female alike. Akin to the mountains they called home and travelled upon, they were stone and strength and whatever other descriptive words would suit. It was interesting to look at and honestly, even he was a bit curious –okay, very curious- to investigate naturally the sort of places that the locals would water themselves down in.
Amongst his private musings, she bumped him. Her words reaching out and immediately, “Yah got all yer eye candy well present. Remember,” Hand pressed into that of chest, “Dainty little pretty elf, yah want to look at the men folk with their… frocks, yah got a whole plethora of it. I’d say yah be very close to the phrase a child in a candy store. Even better than they are the blood of the mountains, rather than snooty elves and or scrummy thieves.”
Calia immediately laughed, taking a few quick steps forward only to turn and walk backwards.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen plenty a mountain bear before. Maybe I’m looking to see what a pretty elf can do in a proper kilt and knee socks,” by the cheeky smile that came along with the statement, this was clearly going to be thing she pestered him about for as long as they stayed in the village. At least it was better than other topics and properly silly.
Whatever uncertainty and awkwardness that’d been in Calia before – that stoic quiet and fear of being seen as something other – had left her completely. None of the brooding she’d had entering the tavern or villages in the decimated Caeldalmor. The reservations and tentative slowness to open up in Edelguard. There might’ve still been a blizzard of insecurities still blowing inside her, but in the here and now she was comfortable within her skin. Fully Calia.
…whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen!
She knew where to go just by experience and instinct, the local tavern always made the best place to rest for a moment and gather some information. This time of day had the regulars sitting outside on the front decking playing some game while the insides were properly rowdy with folk dropping in for lunch and a drink. There were a couple curious glances to see a proper pointy-eared elf, not that he was the only one there, but it did give the impression that they were rare enough in these parts of the mountains that they noticed when someone new showed up.
Calia led them straight to the bar, sliding into one of the stools to knock her knuckles gently on the bartop. Didn’t take long at all for a stout women with thick arms, freckled from the sun and bared up to her shoulders came bustling over, wearing a sunshiny smile. Albeit missing a tooth or two.
“Aye, then, look at the likes of you! Come in for the Hog Wolly, have you?” Though they hadn’t even ordered anything yet, she already drew out two hefty wooden mugs and poured them up full with something that smelled hoppy and frothed on the top. Thunking both mugs in front of the pair of them, and giving the sort of eye that practically begged them to make a complaint. Something of a local test, no doubt.
“Hog what now?” Calia replied, giving the drink a dubious look, but knew enough about the mountain clans that it was far wiser to accept a drink offered than it was to refuse it.
“Oh deary, Hog Wolly ain’t but every three years or so, you come travelling through Boarthorn at a grand good time. What about you, elf? A real pretty thing like you would do well in the wet tunic competition.” the women leaned on the bar, giving him a good wink. “Good prize money in them competitions, best spent here too when you’re done!” What a boisterously lovely laugh she had, slapping her hand on the bar.
He threw her a look somewhere between impish and falsely annoyed. Crossing arms with a turn of nose pointing somewhat upward, “Then yer guna have to keep lookin’. I ain’t about to crawl into anything that leaves my legs bare with a breeze threatening to tickle places that shouldn’t be tickled.” Peeking at her from the corner of eye, “All yer mountain bear men are just guna have to be enough. I don’t need to feel suddenly insecure about my physique.” Lips were curling expressing that he was hardly about to even fall into that trap.
Arms dropped mostly cause while he was not about to ever jump into a kilt and knee socks, he was curious about the local wildlife. Or rather the locals in general. The colours of the trees and the way the air seemed just crisp enough that it potentially could hurt to suck in too quickly but still mighty refreshing. Leaving the whole leading thing to Calia.
Every so often, he’d throw a catching look to those who were taking notice but the second they found the watering hole –like it was a beckoning siren-, everything else fell to the wayside.
If one wanted to know about a place, the bar was it. The drinks, the gossip and the sort of side looks that divulged more than a mouth ever could, it was the living lifeblood of any have decent place. And by all means the second Calia had them at the barside, he was hardly about to resist settling in. Leaning elbows upon the top and finding the woman that manned the place easily sidling up with the sort of know how that was already talking and making sure their hands were suitably busy. Hospitality at its finest and one he hardly complained about. Granted, he needed a moment to figure out that accent and whatever the hell a Hog Wolly was.
Which that latter part he did not discern at all. Just took the drink with less of a critical consideration and immediately supped whilst Calia asked bluntly the question that was necessary to ask.
Well the answer came partial. It happened every three years, apparently, and Arc found himself arching a brow at the bar-woman as she leaned in with that conspiratorial wink, suggesting he’d make a fine prize for some sort of wet tunic contest. He let the silence linger just long enough to be deliberate, then huffed a quiet laugh into his drink. “Ah now,” he drawled, voice honeyed with amusement, “I’ve only just wandered in and already yer tryin’ to throw me to the wolves?” He tipped the glass toward her in a lazy salute, azure eyes glinting.
“We just passed through what felt like a whole forest of broad shoulders and prettier faces on the way in,” He added lightly, the words wrapped in velvet rather than insult. “Half of ’em looked carved from oak, the other half like they stepped out of a painter’s daydream. Wouldn’t be fair of me to go stealin’ the spotlight from the locals, now would it?” His smile tilted crooked at the edge, playful rather than apologetic, as if the idea amused him far more than it tempted.
Another sip followed, unhurried, savoring both the drink and the moment. He let his gaze wander the tavern in a slow sweep before returning to her, softer this time, secretive a little. “Besides,” adjusting to rest an elbow against the bar, “I’ve a terrible habit of disappointin’ crowds that expect a spectacle. Much better I stay here, spend my coin, and be awed by the sights.” A pause, then a wink—quick, shameless to replicate the one she had given him. “Though I’ll not be complainin’ if the ale stays this good and the company half as kind.” But of course, “Didn’t really explain what a Hog Wolly was besides it comin’ about every three years or somethin’.”
“Smooth as a piglets backside, are you!” laughed the bartender. Calia laughed too under her breath, already taking a heavy swallow of proper highland brew and not being the slightest bit disappointed. It was good and strong, not even a hint of being watered down. People out here took pride in being able to guzzle barrels of it and anything weaker would be called a children’s drink.
“Now a wolly be a fool’s errand, so you might liken the Hog Wolly to a festival of foolishness,” she explained gladly, having more than enough good cheer to share. The festival was clearly something of good business for her, as the place itself was pretty packed compared to the actual size of the village itself. “Clans be coming from valleys all up and down the stretch to participate in the games. We got the log toss, the trunk climb, the rope tug, the fightin’ ring amongst some other feats of good healthy strength. Not leavin’ out the fairer folk either, they’ll be votin’ on the Festival Fair Maiden, which handsome young man is the Wilde Wood King, and the chorus of pipes-“
“The bagpipes – they sound like a chorus of sheep being murder all at once,” chimed in Calia most helpfully. At least the woman didn’t take an ounce of offense to it, cackling herself with a boisterous laugh.
“That they do, but who can tell them to stop! Likely to get your head squeezed between their knees while they continue on playing!” she chortled on. “And of course they’ll be a drinking day and night to get the courage to have at any of it. It’s a good time to own a bar.” The woman gave them both a wink before she bustled off to tend to someone else hollering for a drink and some attention.
Then it was Calia leaning in close with that fox smile, practically oozing pure mischief, that there was no doubt foolishness was exactly on her mind.
“I don’t suppose anyone has a prettier face than you do, don’t you think these folks would appreciate a win if they had to really fight for it?”
For effect he merely flashed her one of his trademark roguish grins, all pearly whites and no comeback about how he would never be so suave at all. Certainly not now when he was properly appreciating the drink for its strength and not having to call back to the nasty brews of the elven port town of his birth.
Right now, he was just a curious tourist that was taking an appreciating hum to said tankard whilst the bustling woman of the bar began to properly advise what the hell a Hog Wolly was. In lament’s terms, it was a festival of a bunch of souls that liked to use their muscles to show off how strong they were. The sort of people that would pick things up to hold them rather than using a shelf because that wouldn’t showcase how burly they were. And by the nine hells, they certainly had a vast variety of look at my bulging biceps.
It actually took him a bit not to outright snort and huff at the whole spiel. Tempering down the comment of festival of foolishness was right. Rather he offered an appreciative nod that was ruined only because whatever the hell bagpipes were, Calia helpfully described them as horrible things. “What a great day to have sharp ears.” Arc mused with a lark but somewhere he was actually dreading that! Who the hell played something so abusive to one’s eardrums, on purpose!
Regardless with his palette sufficiently wetted down and the warmth of alcohol having found its depth in belly, he hardly could disagree with the tutting off woman about it being a good time to own a bar. “Y’know, she’s on to somethin’.” Arc smirked, tapping unclawed fingers to the top. “A bar would be good to own.”
Eyes glinted with a sort of idea that he might actually entertain but was softened when a particularly ebon crowned woman leaned closer. Her grin bright and stunning and so full of shit that he had to check to see if her eyes had turn brown. Shortly narrowing a singular eye very, very slowly whilst drink rim was tipped to wholly lengthen the moment because it was clear she was up to something no good. And absolutely everything he was about.
Tongue flicked a moment over lip, catching any stray bead of ale before forming palm onto cheek. “Yah only compliment me when yah want somethin’, what is it yer tryin’ to fish at right now, darlin’?” Oh he knew she was implying he was about to do some shit but what fun was it for him to simply guess when she probably really did want to spell it out. That fae nature for you, dangerous and whimsical all at once.
“That’s not fair, I compliment you in rare moments of being sweet on you too,” she shot back, clearly far too interested in her current mischief to consider what implications that statement might’ve made. Instead, she and her bar stool sidled a little closer, as if she were about to lay down some clandestine criminal plan. Not in the slightest, but it certainly added an atmosphere of fun in a place that was already loud and lively.
“If it’s a festival of fools then why not have a little fun, don’t you think?” she started, matching his energy by resting her elbow on the bar and leaning her chin in her hand. “We can’t join the big clan games, not having a clan and all, but there’s no reason not to attempt a challenge here and there. With a few caveats in mind for a very powerful demon and a very powerful fae.”
Some hairy lout who didn’t think a man needed a shirt in autumn lumber by, catching a flicker of her attention for the fact the only thing he did wear was one of those kilts – and the blasted thing was so short you knew it was cut just long enough to cover his bits! With that widening grin of hers, it was pretty clear trying to wrangle him in a kilt was still forefront in her mind and she was already scheming up ways to make it happen.
“A game of Don’t Win. Play well enough to at least make it good and challenging for folks, but be a spectacular failure when it matters. And a little wager on the side, you can even choose the wager if you’ll be willing to try the kilt when I so graciously win.”
Oh she really did want something that she was willing to tell him such things and then still stay stuck to whatever brewed idea had been created in that clever mind. Enough that he didn’t even find a reason to point out something different, watching as she arranged herself in that mimicry sort of effort of his current arrangement.
“Perhaps,” Arc offered to her don’t you think. Implying for her to go on and of course she did. Pointing out that while they were of no clan –her being a large one of a currently flamed devoured kingdom- but they could still have some fun with a few of the challenges. Again laying on the suggestion that he was some very powerful demon which did earn her that look. Naturally.
She was trying very hard to butter him up like a piece of dry bread! Even if her gaze veered a little to the shirtless fellow that was liable to give away every secret beneath that of his all too short kilt; that is if he didn’t harm someone with his sharp nipples for being surely cold! “Guna lose an eye if yah get too close.” Arc muttered just low enough for one to hear but little else. Probably because the way she was busy making cow eyes at the fellow, he could only guess that she was listing whom was the most likely to take to bed first.
Brows lifted. Gaze thinned and fingers tippy tapped freely at her suggestion that the play was to be just convincing enough of a challenger that it was clear there was some moxie to whatever sort of declaration one made was. But lose in the end because well, it would probably be terribly embarrassing for a random tourist to be good at any of these nonsense sort events.
He was about to say something but stalled because by the nines, what was her fixation with getting him in attire that was by no means any better than a tree leaf? “Yah have a lot of fellow’s to be ooglin’ and wonderin’ what sort of trouser snake they be consealin’, yet yah want me in one. Did yah not get a look at my legs when I was in the wash, love?” He asked her with a curling smirk to tell that he was absolutely teasing her.
And yet, he hummed. Rolling tongue back and forth, aided by scrubbing fingers over chin. At least for a second till his form leaned closer to her. “What if I don’t have anythin’ to wager?” Arc asked her honestly, “Especially when yah seem so convinced yer winnin’. Yer guna have to make it a little more interestin’ for me, bunny. Cause right now, I’m supposed to be nothing more than a dainty wee elf that is all pretty lookin’.” Making the motion of flipping his hair, “Why I couldn’t lift more than this tankard after all.” Tapping it for show while gaze laid upon her. “Guna have to entice me more to get me to strip down to be bared chest and showing off any back muscles.”
Calia couldn’t help the loud laugh about the shirtless highland lout’s nipples, for what a wicked damn thing to say! Truly, he’d be shocked to know the only one Calia was thinking about half naked was himself, but even more shocking was that not even Calia had yet caught on to her own focused thoughts. Tempering her snickers into a sly sort of grin that suggested she wasn’t about to mention what she had and hadn’t already seen, especially if she were angling on seeing more.
His counter offer wasn’t an offer at all but more of a fussing that he had nothing worth wagering, but at least he seemed to be entertaining the idea rather than flat out shooting it down. There was nothing better than when he wanted to play and if meant putting a little of herself on the line too, that might just be worth it.
“Alright then,” she laughed, genuinely, dropping her hand from her face to reach out and take another good swallow of the dark ale. “What’s it worth to you then, bug, what can I do for you? Name the price, something interesting enough for a man that can already do as he pleases. Cause I have a feeling me sharing the kilt experience won’t nearly as entertaining on me as it will be on you.”
By all means it was good to hear her laugh and not in that sort of maniacal way that a signal that shit was guna burn. It was open, relieved and due for some lighthearted business rather than razing everything that was standing between her and her path forward. All the more reason why he was absolutely entertaining her nonsense because she clearly needed it.
Of course what she was trying to nudge at was naturally intriguing. But thus far the idea of a wager hadn’t won him over. Especially if these folks had seen elves and well, they’d know a thing or two that they weren’t particularly the most powerful forces out there. At least that of physical prowess that wasn’t simply agile and floating like a butterfly while being deadly in their strikes.
What was it all worth to him? Well that was the fun thing now wasn’t it, cause he had been serious that he had nothing to wager. Nothing to make her squirm or shiver for a moment of a giggle. He’d already gotten away with calling her bunny after she told him not too. Because as stated, he didn’t care to listen to her complaints. And he didn’t have anything in the way of servitude because they already knew he wasn’t a fan of it at all.
So when she was looking at him with a grin and a jest well in her chest, he didn’t have an answer. But he most certainly didn’t want to wear a damn kilt! She had a very weird desire currently when she was surrounded by the burly sorts that would certainly love and were likely thinking of the ways they could take her to bed for a proper bed thumping romp.
It meant making up something that he really had no intention of following through on. But believable enough that she wouldn’t call him on it. “Yah buy the drinks then the entire time we are here.”
Calia waited patiently for him to roll some ideas in that head of his, suspecting he was likely having a hard time thinking of something he wouldn’t already do when he was feeling particularly pesky. Really, there was no purpose to the wager at all beyond a little bit of mischievous fun. A lightness that he very much needed after several harrowing experiences in the underground, and if that might getting him feisty to avoid having to be dressed bare arsed in a kilt, it was well worth the efforts.
So when he declared something as paltry as her just buying all the drinks for their stay, she did pause long enough to give him a suspicious up and down stare. Truly the least he could’ve possibly asked, even if it did vaguely call back to her continuously pointing to him as the source of payment everywhere they went. It would be fair play.
“Ah, so you’re thinking the actual prize is just me shutting up about the kilts,” she dared to call him out, throwing up a cheeky grin along with it. “Alright, I accept. I’ll happily buy all the drinks until you’re properly sauced and not say another peep about tartans if you win the wager.”
He might actually be motivated enough in avoiding playing dressup to actually make it a good challenge! By the devious expression she was now sporting, Calia had ever intention of tackling it like it was her new calling in life.
“We’ll have to walk about and see what games to try. Throwing you into that wet tunic contest almost sounds too dangerous with all of these daggered nipples about.”
Well colour him surprised that she bit on his wager because if she didn’t, he didn’t have a back up. For there was absolutely nothing he could have leverage at her that would be worth it, honestly. As she said, he could pretty much do anything he truly wanted and anything he couldn’t, well it wouldn’t detail making Calia the butt of the situation.
“I doubt anythin’ is guna get yah to be less bedazzled by men in skirts.” He had no idea what was so fascinating about it but that was why he was a man and she was a girl. Had to be something about it that was interesting enough yet she was so focused on him. Likely because of him being so refusing about it! Had he been more kosher to it, she’d likely not be interested at all.
“Oh, yer coin is guna hurt if yah want me sauced.” With that, the tankard was drained properly. Put back on the counter and coin that went along with it because said wager wasn’t won, yet. And he might have to be on his A game because she was smiling at him like the cat that already ate the canary. Convinced she would be the victor, which really did need some deeper thought put into it. Why was she so damn interested in him at all, this was practically a flesh buffet laid out for her. She simply had to pick if she wanted white or dark meat!
“Now hold on a moment here, lass.” Arc raised a finger, “How do we determine whom the winner is? This isn’t as nearly cut and dry as saying the victor in said winnin’ is. And there’s gotta be rules,” A finger tapped his temple, “I know how deals work with yer particular brand of mischief. I ain’t about to accidentally sell my worthless soul on top of being thrust into a kilt on the very narrow off chance that I lose at all.”
“How many games do we need to do? What is the determinin’ factor of who wins, and whatever I have to do, be it a wet tunic contest,” Arc eyed her, “Yer doing the equivalent. I ain’t about to give away my goodies when I ain’t about to score any sort of action amongst those who see me as a morsel of elflin’ scraps.”
With her wildling smile, it was clear she didn’t care a lick if it’d take ten barrels to get him sauced! Chances were she’d be right there with him, so it was likely to be a win win in her opinion. Truly just a chance for bragging rights one way or the other.
He drained that drink so fast though and with a blink, Calia realized the game was already a foot. She’d have to keep up and be wary if he were going to take it serious and have a good play with her. For just as he was explaining she was a wily mischievous thing, Calia knew damn well he too as a demon could pull all kinds of twists and shenanigans if he caught the right opening. Hells, he coulda done so es the elven mage for he’d been that clever long before he was ever a demon.
She drank down her own pint in a few swift swallows, thunking the mug on the counter before joyously hopping down from her stool with a wide grin.
“The rule is not to win any competitions, to be our wonderful show boaty touristy selves and let the mortals have their glory. At least three challenges. And you, by way of needed to defend your own arse from having to spend the evening easy breezy, get to choose which of the competitions will be our wagering one. To win it or lose it for the wager.”
She rest her hands on her hips then, tempering the sort of smile that was sweeter than it had any business of being. “Do you really think there won’t be plenty dazzled by a pretty-faced elf that can easily toss anyone here? Win or lose, you could have company if you want it. A pretty lass that will be almost as delighted to see you in a kilt as me.”
They clearly needed an adult as neither one of them should have been classified as one currently. With her tank drained and her hopping off the stool for the game to be afoot, he followed. After his whole spiel of how, what, where and why. Needing details because well, as she said. He was a demon, she was a fae. Neither one of them were mortal by the proper definition.
So not only were they to ensure they did not win any of the events they partook in, but the more touristy and full of themselves they were, the better. Which, well that was easy!
They needed to do three challenges and he had the means of choosing which ones would be their wagering ones. “Suppose we best be figurin’ out which ones are for them clan sorts, and which ones ain’t. Which by the way, yah might wanna be lookin’ at whom the clans are. If yah wanna y’know… approach them later. All corralled to one spot, timin’ is truly on yer side.” Of course they couldn’t forget about the whole motivation they were up this high in the mountains after all.
Moving to open the door for her so she could be the leader in this world of tree tossing, he gave her a proper scoffing laugh. Bright and deep but no less utterly sure she was pulling his leg. “I’ve seen the fair maidens thus far and I’m sure that I’ll be a poor little excuse for any sort of romp. And I sure as shit ain’t gettin’ into any kilt for any soul. The fun is to keep me out of all clothin’, Lia. I’d hate to think what the feminine souls are to think about men in eyeliner, if I didn’t have the red bits already across my eyes every day.” Arc flashed her a grin.
“Playing a few games isn’t just for our amusement, you know,” she answered with a broadened smile. Something far more genuine that the fox grin she’d been holding previously. A light one full of a rare good mood and a little bit of good ale as she lef the way out the offered open door to start them off down the road. Likely the festival itself would be out past the village square and out in one of the fields where events could be spread out.
“By way of playing I’ll get to see what clans are here, if any are familiar allies and if not, surely we’ll entertain enough folk that’ll be happy to share some information of where to go looking.” she explained. “They tend to not like too many strangers asking questions about who might be where, harking back to some old stupid bullshit back when the clans were warring each other all the time. No sense in it now, but some suspicions are hard to break.”
No reason why they could do multiple things at once. Have their fun and still accomplish what needed to be done. It certainly made things feel less weighted for Calia, as she was so so tired of feeling the world on her shoulders.
Of course her moment of beaming genuine smiles had been brief, set right back into the mode of being a teasing minx when she veered into his space again, hooking her arm with his.
“Who is this strange lackluster elf that’s come out from under the mountain? Are you not the one who can charm a lady’s pants off with just a wink and a smile? Weave every single twittering maiden around your finger? The red liner is fetching, otherwise that poor chickling with the laundry basket behind us wouldn’t have just ran face first into a lamp post trying to catch your attention.”
Surely he’d not gone blind after all the time underground. He might not have been a big hairy bear of the mountains, leaner for certain, but he was still just as tall and with the sort of looks ladies liked to daydream about. The fact that he was an elf only made him more of a rare exciting thing. He could literally point at any girl in the village and they’d fawn at him, much to Calia’s annoyance!
He knew next to fucking nothing about the clans, as they both knew. But to hear that she was already thinking well ahead of this, well, sufficient to say that he was grinning at her. A proud sort of muted smile that didn’t need to be bold or flashy. Just genuine that she had already thought of this. Granted if he added anything in the verbal sense about it, it was likely she would just verbally shoo it aside. So it was just best not to add to it but rather hum about the information given.
“Well then, we best not be makin’ it too known what we do know. Be interestin’ enough that they wanna come investigate but not more than that. Till yah give the word, that is.” He would have to follow her course of action in all of this, to avoid any potential slips. And if it meant being a pair of over flexing idiots that thought they were worth a hill of salt only to fall on their thespian faces, so be it.
Easily she came slipping in. Intertwining arm with his own and then giving him quite the ficitious brow beating about apparently no longer being this boasting, proud being that knew he could charm mostly anyone he damn well wanted. Save, he was truly trying to behave himself. Even if the idea was greatly intriguing. “And if I said I am tryin’ to be on my best behaviour as previously promised with no flirtin’ and making bed sheets loose the meanin’ of the first half of their name, would yah believe it?” He asked reaching over to lay his unoccupied hand over her own. Squeezing it, “I said when it came to the clan’s, I’d not do any sort of business that has me horizontal. Plus,” He did glance back the way she had suggested some poor miss had make a red imprint on her forehead.
“This is yer world and I’m a tourist in it. Curious and mildly horrified at the accuracy that yah described the souls present. I am convinced that there is an actual bear wearin’ a kilt somewhere here that we will need to identify for the safety of the others.” Granted if she gave him even a bit of leeway where he could fraternize, he would honestly do so. Whether or not it was to itch that the wanting scratch of simply being limbs and heated desires.
“I’d believe there was something wrong with you and you bonked your head somewhere,” which she meant quite seriously, for she already looking him up and down with wonderment if he’d received some sort of personality altering concussion. Now that she was thinking about it, the man hadn’t once flashed a fangy grin or a little wink at not one of these woman and mountain women (at least in Calia’s excellent opinion) tended to have a striking sort of beauty you wouldn’t find in the elven lands! He sure as hell didn’t have a problem chasing them in Caeldalmor!
Of course, he was claiming it all to be him at his best of behaviors, trying to keep himself out of beds as to not cause any trouble. She could only figure that trouble was her in the form of being a massive cockblock if she got displeased about his antics. Something she hadn’t done since Caeldalmor either, so he shouldn’t be worrying about her at all.
“You jest about a kilted bear, but I can bet you another town’s worth of drinks there will be some kilted animal around here somewhere,” she told him. Allowing that moment of brevity before giving his arm a gentle shake.
“You’re not tied to me. Once I win my prize, and I will win, you can run off and woo ladies if that’s what you want to do,” she meant it. …she did. It might’ve been leaving a bad taste in her mouth and making a little voice in the back of her head snarl something about not at all liking the idea of her bedtime squeezings being given to someone else, but that was a stupid voice and she didn’t need to listen to it.
“Just tell me when you want your space. I’ll go climb a tree and cover my ears.”
That got a earnest laugh out of him. Paired with a bemused grin that had been near enough to flashy as she seemed to be considering his entire being with as if it really had been a quirk in personality. Never mind that he didn’t really honestly think that anyone here would be seriously that interested when there was again, a buffet of brawny fellows all over the damn place. Sharp ears or round, it shouldn’t really matter!
But she got him to look momentarily questionable when she suggested there very well could be a kilted animal somewhere. “If it has googlie eyes, I know who made it.” Tapping the end of her nose as if neither one of them were aware who the culprit of such things were.
Yet, with the shake and the statement that if he really did want to go off chasing skirts, she wouldn’t stop him. That wasn’t the problem at all. He doubted she would even be interested in trying to step in anyways because they both knew his previous history with that happening –accidental or intentional- hadn’t been the best. “I never said I was tied to yah, and yah ain’t winnin’.” Being sure she wasn’t about to believe he’d just roll over with that! “Though hearin’ suggest yah wouldn’t want to be slicin’ yerself a chunk of whatever blue eyed, brown eyed or green eyed slab of fuzzy bear man, does brin’ me a little concern. Seein’ as I don’t think yah hidin’ in a tree with yer ears covered is guna do me much good in the worryin’ department.”
And of course it wouldn’t be a moment if he didn’t slide over to the means of something wily, “Unless yer entire ploy is tryin’ to get me in a kilt and then out of the kilt.” Arc’s false azure gaze went up and down her. “Surely the peekin’ yah did didn’t put a wonderment in yer discernin’ eye, now did it?”
Well now that he’d put it in her head, one could wager a bet that there would indeed be a googlie-eyed kilt wearing faerie creature wandering around here soon enough. Now would be the fun of when and where, to see if he noticed it at all!
Apparently he was still obsessed with the idea of watching her get paired off with a rainbow selection of menfolk no matter where it was in the world. At this rate she might need to worry about him trying to marry her off on top of the nonsense about creating a court!
It’s not as if she didn’t occasionally think about it – even now giving him a soft squint of her eyes before glancing around and really looking to see if anyone sparked that interest. There were the burly hair folk and sorts of men that looked like they climbed mountains and hammered anvils all day. Ones who’d look as pretty as an elf if they shaved off those long curly beards. Plenty big enough to make Calia feel small and crushable for once and with enough energy to actually last longer than a brief ten minutes.
“…none looking like they’d be better at entertaining me than you,” came her candid, honest reply first. Then the dramatics turned on when she sighed heavily. “I guess you caught me red handed. How is it fair that every other girl gets a look, and you’re all demure and decent with me? I’m starting thing I’m getting cheated! Besides, all the fun of kilts is the heavy breezes and that cheeky little flash when you least expect it.”
He followed her attention to consider the arrangement of beings present. And considering the way she had detailed them, well, who could blame him by thinking this had been exactly the sort of arrangement that she wanted. Granted, he wasn’t supposed to talk about it but that didn’t mean if she was going to go climb up into a tree with her fingers in her ears, that he was going to be willing to do anything at all.
By all means, he was still someone who would stick by and close if that was what she wanted. Whomever he was with, came first and she was his first priority.
But his thoughts replayed the former information she had flooded into the tether when her emotions were high and how she seemed very dead set on trying to get him into something that was barely above taking grandma’s curtain’s off the window to wrap around one’s modesty; he had to ask.
“Oh I know I’m entertainin’ in all the right ways.” Puffing up a little because they both knew he had all sorts of stories and literal proof of such things that she had witnessed. Much in the same vein as herself, they were absolutely the sort of terrors mother’s warned their babies about. Even if said babies were missing out on every bit of fun from said warnings.
Yet when she sighed heavily and started with the dramatics about how it wasn’t fair and blah blah, antics, Arc rolled his eyes. “Alright yah dramatic little diva, save yer energy for losing the bet rather than makin’ it clear that what I said was total hogwash and bullshit in one.”
Well that was good and buried then and there!
Rolling shoulders –with her attached or not- he turned his attention outwards. Considering once more what the bartending woman had said about the sort of things that were done in this foolish festival, “What sort of event’s yah think we ought to stay away from? I mean, the whole tossing a tree sounds dumb as hell and honestly, I don’t think I want to showboat where I could literally be squished and have to do some magic to poof my ass out from being a bug splatter on the ground.”
He called her a diva and that was enough to have her laughing and dropping the dramatics again, back to that amused smile and the soft sort of expression she’d likely have never wanted on her face at all. There was the lingering touch of her hands to his arms before she pulled away, returning to that backwards walking as for some reason if her full attention was on him, so to did her whole body need to be facing him!
“Agreed, if I’m going to launch anything into the sky, I want it to be screaming when I do it,” she affirmed. “If anything we should be picking what best shows off our assets.”
Despite her cheeky grin, she didn’t suggest the wet tunic thing again. There was only a single main street to this village before it ended in a big wide market circle where traveling tradesmen would setup carts and caravans and wagons to sell off whatever wares they’d brought in. Most were recognizably banners from different mountain clans, even a few of the smaller kingdoms that were scattered in isolated valleys. One or two might’ve even come from the Imperial Kingdoms for they weren’t of a style or look that Calia was familiar with. It seemed the Hog Wolly was a big enough event to bring in a lot of business and the vendors were taking good advantage of it.
Of course, shopping for trinkets was not their agenda so further they had to walk, down the single lane until it curved off towards a break in the autumnal trees to a big spread of open meadow.
Hogs Wolly was apparently a big deal, so much so even Calia was surprised at the sheer amount of people that’d been collected in what honestly looked like an entire second village. Out in the far distance there were different groupings of tents where clan folk had setup temporary camps because the local taverns would be far too full to give room to everywhere. Different competitions were already well underway, with cheering and leering.
A shocking amount of events involved getting muddy as hell. The the rope pull being a clan event where two teams had to pull against each other until one got dragged into a mudpit. There was a hog chase for younger patrons to test their quickness, chasing and attempting to catch and wrangle muddied up piglets. Mud wrestling being pretty straight forward.
Log related events seemed to be the second most forefront, with log toss being a feat of who could toss one the farthest. A log roll, with seeing who could stay standing the longest. Chopping and sawing competitions for breaking them down the fastest.
There were so many things going on, it was almost as overwhelming as it was thoroughly entertaining. Calia finally stopped at one spot just out of pure curiosity when there seemed to be a whole bunch of men gathered at the end of the field and a bunch of women at the other.
“What’s all that about?” she leaned in to ask a watching patron.
“Oh, it’s the Husband Raid!” she chirped cheerfully. “On the bell you have to run as fast as you can to kidnap your man and carry him back to the finish! If you win, you can get married, it’s so romantic!” Something about Calia’s wrinkled nosed expression must’ve said otherwise, for the girl flushed and laughed and quickly tried to explain. “Well, oh, it’s usually sweethearts that enter, just you know, to have an excuse and married couples for a lark. I mean, there haven’t been any real husband raids in centuries–“
“It was an old orcish tradition when the mountains were still on fire. Orc matriarchs would raid other clans and steal their best men for husbands. They thought it was romantic too,” Calia pointed out, making sure to wipe off any wicked look from her face to give the girl a reassuring smile. No judgement here – maybe some giggling later though.
…especially when the girl took notice of her pointy-eared companion and was even more full of flushing and smiles.
“There’s other better ones for strangers!” she blurted out. “The uhm… blind kissing. If you can correctly guess the who and you can play just as often as you like. Or oh, well, unless you’re a little too good at the guessing or too bad at it. And then well, they know you’re just there to be kissing on everybody and that’s really not fair, but it is you know a very fun sort of competition–“
The poor thing was rambling now and Calia in her helpfulness, gestured with a hand, giving that silent thought of see? interested girls! just in case he was blind.
“And that is always a treasured viewin’ when it happens. I’d prefer we keep that little tidbit of fun between us and whomever has successfully pissed yah off to warrant being launched into the stratosphere.” Well it did seem they had quite the arrangement of people because as they were moving deeper into this festival and past the merchants that might have been gleeful to have some tourists looking at their fabulously overpriced wares that came from the deepest southern point in the world with a story along with, that was not their wager.
It was best to get a view of the events and it certainly showed just how big of an event this all was, because the second they seemed to even touch the outskirts of the main arrangement of activity, the crowd bloomed.
There were people of all sorts, everywhere. All shapes and sizes and for a quiet private moment of thought, he was a little more than surprised. These were the mountain people –likely other rando’s like them too- but no one seemed to show a sort of concern or hushed whispering about the fact the mountain kingdom of Caeldalmor had been brought to destruction.
His ears were trained –making use of their actual purpose- to eavesdrop on conversations and finding it impressive if not a little more than worrying, how no one was mentioned demon’s even under their breath. Doubting highly that no one knew about it and wondered if it was such a deeply taboo topic currently that no one dared to mention it.
Eyes flickered to take in everything they could. Keeping close to the mountain princess that was practically blending into the faces –if he wasn’t careful.
And he most certainly noticed how being covered in mud was seemingly a requirement for nearly all the events. Smirking a bit in particular at the idea of chasing the little muddy piglets and gave Calia a very obvious look that said, he very well much just choose that one because he thought she would have fun both getting obscenely dirty and chasing after squirmy little piglets that would absolutely outsmart most that were over confident.
He made a point to declare that one challenge was in fact, the log roll. It would allow them both to show off easily but not be too obvious either when they threw themselves into losing as not to inspire the wrath of the audience or worse.
So one selected, another humoured and apparently they were drifting over to a collection of souls that were men on one side, women on the other. Prompting Calia to ask just what this was about in which another spectator piped up. Declaring that it was a husband raid, which he didn’t even control the way his features shifted into a sort of what the fuck arrangement. Something that Calia seemed to show in her way too that warranted a deeper explaination because well, it sounded interesting and maybe a bit barbaric. Granted the fact it was the ladies that were claiming said husband’s really did foretell their prowess in a multitude of feats.
“Yer genius is showin’,” Arc offered when Calia helped by explaining where this tradition had been collected from –and suddenly it made a hell of a lot more sense. Though if he was about to be blind about something, it wasn’t the way the girl’s face flushed and she was turning into a shy little sprout that absolutely did grab his focus. Mostly too cause she started to get embarrassed, letting her mouth run away with telling that apparently another interesting event was going about kissing random people and such. It made not a lick of sense!
Catching the way Calia made her gesture and was leveled back with a oh I know, now.
She’d given him the go ahead after all and well, he wasn’t one to ask more than twice. And this one did seem exactly the sort that he preferred. Rock their world for a night and slip away into oblivion to be just a passing memory that was full of sighs and nostalgia.
“Blind kissin’, hm?” he echoed softly, voice low and amused, the words brushing the air between them like a secret meant to be shared. One brow lifted, not in mockery but in curiosity sharpened by something warmer. “Now that’s a dangerous sort of game to be explainin’ so earnestly.” He shifted just slightly closer—not enough to crowd her, just enough that the warmth of him might be noticed if she were the sort to notice things like that. His gaze dipped briefly toward the festival gatherers once more before drifting back to her, slow and deliberate. “A man could lose himself in somethin’ like that. All mystery and guessin’. No way to tell if yah’ve stumbled into a blessin’ or made a terrible, terrible mistake.”
The corner of his mouth curved, lazy and knowing. “Though I reckon the real trouble ain’t guessin’ right too often.” His voice softened, velvet-dry. “It’s hopin’ yah guess wrong and end up surprised in the best way.” Arc tilted his head, studying her like she was suddenly far more interesting than the games. The distant laughter and ambience blurred into background noise, irrelevant. “Tell me somethin’,” he murmured, playful warmth threading through every syllable. “Yah explainin’ it so I know what I’m missin’… or so I know exactly where to wander if I decide the night deserves a little recklessness?”
A faint smile lingered, unhurried and utterly certain. “Because if it’s the latter,” he added quietly, eyes glinting with mischief, “I might just have to thank yah proper.”
Calia herself had a few wonderments, thought it wasn’t about the lack of a demon touch or even a hint of fear about them. This entire festival was a massive endeavor and happened frequent enough that it truly put into perspective just how isolated from the rest of the mountains that Caeldalmor had become. They’d had a remaining connection with a few valleys that were close enough to reach just from climbing mountain trails and beyond that…? Nothing of Edelguard, nothing of the Imperial Lands, no contact with these northern clans with their grand festival and amusing traditions.
Her genius was showing? A wry grin was the answer to that. Her education with mountain history seemed to lack a few key chapters on why her kingdom had become to cut off from the rest of the world.
Although now she was distracted with how quickly Arc was suddenly interested in turning on the charm with one flustered blushing maiden. Of course it would be some soft and pretty little miss. Flaxen hair and dappled with freckles, the sort of temperament that was sweet and pleasant. Heaven forbid he ever meet her sister, he’d probably fall right in love with her too!
Calia could’ve gagged and grimaced, but she’d told him she’d not be a pain in the ass if he wished to wander off with someone and she meant it. She made the effort of giving a little space, a few paces of side stepping to pretend she was more interested in watching a long distance axe throw. Honestly, she didn’t want to hear him laying on the charm and groundwork, being all sweet for some woman he planned to bed later, anyway!
That flushing woman in question certainly knew a lady’s signal that this was not a claimed man, finding a little more comfort with that leaning in, even if it didn’t help her nervous giggles.
“Oh that’s just the fun of it isn’t it? Getting a little taste of this and that, not knowing it’s going to be the handsome new stranger in town, or that one you’ve been making eyes at for months. I don’t normally play myself, but then maybe if one like you enters I might just be convinced to give it a little spin!”
There was enough souls around that he really didn’t have too much intention on sticking to the first pretty thing he laid eyes on. Flirting however, he would do in abundance and then source out just which one or ones if he felt inclined, to find later and continue the entire song and dance. With the blessing of Lia, there was no reason to withhold and well, it’d been a bit after all. His last proper romp being when they were in the imperial lands and he wanted space to be a fool.
And this was the festival of fools. So seemed right up his alley.
Still, he noticed how Calia shuffled aside as if to give a sort of respectful distance. Not too far that he was going to have to chase after her to make sure she didn’t help herself to an event that did mean she was going to win –granted would that have broken their wager to his win? He wasn’t sure.
For now, he let his grin deepened, slow and shameless in the way of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and had no intention of apologizing for it. He never really did anyways. Letting a quiet breath of laughter slip out, more felt than heard, as if her words had settled somewhere warm beneath his ribs. His eyes slid toward the festival below for a heartbeat, autumn flickering gold across his features, before drifting back to her with unhurried intent. There was no rush in him, no hunger—just that languid, magnetic ease that made every glance feel chosen. “A little taste of this and that,” he repeated, thoughtful, like he was turning the idea over on his tongue. “Sounds like the sort of mischief a fstival like this was made for.”
The corner of his mouth tilted, crooked and knowing. “But I’d hate to be the reason yah go changin’ yer habits,” Adding lightly, teasing threaded through the softness. “Wouldn’t want yah blamin’ me come mornin’ when the mystery wears off and yer left wonderin’ which stranger to curse.”
He shifted just enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers, close without claiming, presence warm and deliberate. “Truth is,” Arc murmured, lower now, the words meant only for her, “Half the fun of a game like that is not knowin’ if yah’ll play at all.” The azure gaze held hers, steady and bright with quiet danger, a promise carefully left unspoken. “Might be I wander through it,” he said, casual as a shrug, though the air between them seemed to tighten. “Might be I stay right here and let the night come to me instead.” A faint, wicked smile lingered. “Either way,” he added softly, “I reckon the real thrill’s in wonderin’… don’t yah?”
Letting the suggestion linger for just the right moment before tilting his attention back to Calia. Briefly, then back to the girl to complete the up and down with a brightening crooked grin, dragging lower lip through teeth for added effect. “We’ll just see how long I can resist comin’ back around to see if one so stunnin’ is willin’ to test her luck.”
It was only then that he gave her a wink before turning properly to step back into that of his claimed mountain princess. Eyeing the axe throwing and, “Second challenge? Think yah can showboat and lose to that one, I think not.”
The girl gave such a lovely, bubbly laugh that it was loud enough for Calia to hear, sending her rolling her eyes up to the sky and heaving a heavy snort through her nose. It wasn’t really the girl’s fault that Archimedes could charm even a snake into a kiss, he had an unfair advantage on so many levels that no average woman really had a chance. Thankfully she didn’t have to hear to whisper the girl had leaned in to give him about what possible places he might find her if he were lucky and looking.
Calia had her expressions well under control by the time he rejoined her, tilting her head at the axe throwing before giving a firm shake.
“Nah. I want to do that one,” crossing one arm under her elbow, she gave a firm gesture to ring a few paces on down the dirt path, where a fighting ring had been designate by a line of sand. Women, the more scrappy sorts with crooked noses, long legs, and thick bodies were duking it out with fists alone. Right about now Calia had an itch of her own and it was screaming for violence!
“You can go be pretty and kiss some ladies, while dramatically lamenting how terrible of a guesser you are. And I’ll do what I do best and start some fights. We’d just need one more challenge,” she paused, before gesturing to the direction where the men were having their own boxing ring. “Unless you wanna have us doing the same challenges and risk having your nose broken by a mountain bear and potentially having to kiss me in the same day.”
Well he had one prospect but there were plenty more that he could consider. Just because there was a flesh buffet of men in skirts, didn’t mean there wasn’t the equal trade of pretty little dames with shy batting lashes that he wouldn’t happily try his hand with.
Just for the moment, he had a wager to win and that meant collecting the competitor. Currently looking at the axes being tossed along the way without bouncing back and of course he shouldn’t be remotely surprised when she declared that was not at all what she was looking for. Pointing along the way that was no sooner the pedestal of destruction.
A bunch of women that were clearly well suited for giving out beatings with a license. Something that he was even remotely shocked that Calia had an inkling towards and even gave her that look that loudly said he should’ve expected that from her. She did say she craved violence though he did personally worry about the other girls –larger or smaller than her- he knew Calia was beyond scrappy. And when she meant business well, how fair was it to these mountain ladies to be completely dominated while being made into a new flesh rug because this highborn fae decided their kneecaps were optional.
“I believe I did say that we had to do the equvilant.” Scratching at his chin whilst considering the whole women fight club a moment more. Before glancing at her as she stated he was likely to have a broken nose and kissing her in the same day. “Firstly, I love that yah think of me as some complete baby when it comes to actual fightin’. Startin’ to think that yah believe I am actually just a pansy.” A dark brow lifted at her to suggest she combat what she was suggesting. “Secondly, yah say that as if kissin’ yah is so terrible. Please, but I don’t think playin’ the kissin’ game is a fair challenge. It’s too easy to win and lose and therefore complicates the whole means of our wager. So that one is entirely out but if yah really wanna remove some women’s rights to their legs, then I’ll met yah the same. Without getting my face busted,” He wanted to point out that he wasn’t muscular for looks, there was actual strength in that but it probably would have just sounded like unnecessary boasting.
“So log roll, tussle with the muscle and one more…” Arc smirked slowly as the wheels in his head really began to chug along. Settling a side eye on her, “Think we can get a private game of that tug a rope thing? Yah versus me… as the last one. Whomever actually win’s, win’s. No losin’ in that one? Hmm? Or are yah just guna continue to insult and insinuate that I’m pathetic?”
Calia was still trying to shake that lingering sense of annoyance, so if he was having his ego hurt a little bit just because she’d never actually seen him pull off his impressive feats of strength, she was fine with that. Naturally, she knew damn well those muscles of his weren’t just for show, and surely he himself had been training in certain physical combative things just as she had. Being petty felt good in the brief moment, anyway!
“Kissing me is absolute agony,” she told him instead, leaning a hand against a post and smiling that devious devil smile. “And not at all in the terrible way. But you’re right, I would know you before you even got within a hair’s breadth.”
Basically, they could compete in the same challenges, but competing against each other wouldn’t work as they’d certainly be able to cheat to achieve those losses. Thus it made perfect sense that he’d accept the means of the fighting circle (with a little bit of her cheeky grinning cause he was surely trying to defend his own honor on that one) and decline the blind kissing. He likely didn’t think it’d be fun if he wasn’t seducing them anyway!
The surprise came in his suggestion of the final game, causing her to narrow her eyes at him and try to run the angle in her head.
“Seeing as they’re not setup for individuals,” she murmured first. That was the obvious thing, the pit and the rope was made for full clan teams. “I mean, it is it to win, we truly would have to have a private arena. Because you can bet if it is to win, I won’t give that up easily. We would need ground rules…”
Eyes rolled so deep and hard that it was a pure miracle they hadn’t gotten lodged in the back of his skull when she went on to say that a kiss from her was the good sort of agony. Yet he had to keep his mouth shut from spilling out that it wasn’t him the last while that had been spilling private thoughts about kissing him into the tether. Knowing that would be a fight. Especially since he didn’t say anything this long and well, he didn’t want them to actually get into another one. Doubly so when there was a chance for both relaxation and Calia figuring out at the moment which clans here would be best to speak too.
So as much as he found her commentary to be just a little bit arrogant, he stayed quiet. About that. Instead humming to agree that they’d likely know another anyways in that blind kissing and really, it didn’t sound nearly as fun as it was trying to be.
It sounded juvenile and really, at his age that was not what he was going for.
But if all this meant he was about to defend and prove a point that he wasn’t nearly as feeble with any sort of actual strength prowess, then so be it! It would do well anyways for the men in their pattern skirts to feel like they had something to show by going against that of an elf. One who clearly didn’t know what the hell the Hog Wolly was prior and was clearly out of his element. It meant being able to show off and in turn, defend that he wasn’t so weak and worthless either. He’d fought demon’s for fuck sakes and that was where he was equally, if not over matched because of a high rank!
Fighting actually took some smarts but he wasn’t about to prattle in that. Setting hands to hips as she was narrowing her gaze at him while he worked out the final challenge. One that would put them against another in a measure that wasn’t to be showing off but to actually try to win over the other one. And he knew Calia was a competitive person, doubly so because she had this strong desire to embarrassment by sticking his ass in a garment that was absolutely none of his business. “Love, when do yah ever give up easily?” Asking her seriously because the truth was, Calia went hard in everything she did.
If she didn’t, well… she wouldn’t want to go up to wrestle down the women in that competition.
“Ground rules are a must and we can do it privately elsewhere without a massive audience. Though I feel as though yah would want the audience to show off and prove that yah are the dominant force that even makes the pretty elf crumble down. To get the hoots and hollers and praise to smooth yer ego.” Arc shrugged because he knew if an audience was present and he somehow lost, he could still play the card of being a humble loser that would attract the fairer women. So it wasn’t terribly a bad thing for him and he got the impression now that Calia simply just wanted to beat him to rub it in his face.
“What sort of ground rules yah want?”
She was still trying to figure out his angle, watching him carefully as if she could pluck those thoughts out of his head to find out what clever little idea he’d pull to ultimately win. Just as he stated she didn’t ever give up easily. Calia knew damn well neither did he. There was no one in the world that could out stubborn her the way he did!
“Not even a small audience. I might boast about being strong, but even I have sense enough to know I can’t beat you when it’s strength to strength alone. You know you’ll win, we won’t pretend.” That much she’d figured out, at least. Because of course she had a natural strength and kept herself fit, but she wasn’t a seven foot tall demon elf with arms that could punch through a table. If the challenge was seeing who pulled who into a mud pit by only strength, she’d not have a chance.
“So,” she lift up a finger to list her rules, “you and I alone, magic allowed only in fortitude for pulling. We cannot knock each other over or throw another off balance. No summoning up googlie-eyed beasties for distraction or aid. No weakening or manipulation of the rope. Might against might!”
Truly, even with all her determination and confidence, it may have been the first time Calia wasn’t so sure she would win. The prize for success would be oh so delightful, however, and well worth the risk to her own ego. If he did best her, she’d only be buying his drinks until he finally wandered off with some giggling tart!
Oh, he was now having fun with her giving him the eye. One he had seen before but not for a while and not that level of depth. Leaving him to be a slow grinning soul that was merely waiting for her to decide if she was up for this idea or if she was about to call him out on some technicality.
Neither came. Rather she was going for it but there would be no audience. And oddly enough, mouth softened as she seemed to be actually considering him for once as not simply the theatrical demon, or the mage that made sparkles. Even suggesting that strength to strength, he would win. That, got him to consider her earnestly and wondered no sooner if she actually meant that or was it a ruse to let him bring down the proverbial guard.
Still, she was going for it. Now begged the question of why?
The list began, the ground rules. Magic was only to be used in fortitude of pulling, which meant one had to be very ironclad about that where the gray zones were. They couldn’t knock each other over or throw another off balance. No summoning up googlie eyed beasties from her and he wasn’t to use weakening or manipulation on the rope. It had to be might versus might.
“Alright. Magic only permitted in one capacity. Reinforcement of one’s own strength. Nothin’ more, no edges, no interpretations, no convenient misunderstandin’s. If it ain’t directly fortifyin’ the act of pullin’, it’s forbidden.” He stated clearly to show he understood what she was saying. “Then no interference with the opponent’s body. No shoves, trips, feints or subtle disruptions of balance, as it’s a contest of endurance and power alone.”
He nodded then and continued, “No conjurations, constructs or familiars. Illusions or wide-eye monstrosities from either soul. It if breathed, crawled, whispered, watched or anything in-between, it has no place.” And finally, “The rope itself is inviolate. Meaning no slicking its surface, bending its nature through any manipulation, decay or trickery. The rope will remain as a rope, meaning neither party will tamper it with spell, curse or a clever hand.” Ears slightly dipped, “Any attempt at bamboozlin’ will be taken as forfeiture, as I understand correctly then.”
Yet, he considered her, “Why are yah takin’ the challenge then if yer not a hundred percent confident as yah typically are that yah’ll beat me to a fine pulp? Or is this some sort of ruse that yah want me to feel and that way I just give in?” Of course he made a motion of hand, “Yer more than welcome to select a different third challenge if this doesn’t feel fair, even if I am highly suspicious of yah and yer unusual flair for seeming not so confident of success.”
Calia crossed her arms, listening very, very carefully to his reiteration of the rules just to make sure he wasn’t slipping in something sneaky that he’d be able to use later. A demon wasn’t worth his salt if he couldn’t do a little rule bending, so of course she was going to watch him like a hawk. Nodding along easily with every approved statement and addition he had to make.
“No bamboozling of any kind indeed,” she affirmed. Oh she would’ve enjoyed the attempts, might’ve even tried some shenanigans if she weren’t far more interesting in a fair and square match.
To which apparently he seemed to have some confusion about himself, on just the whys she was agreeing to such a thing at all. He did know her well now, didn’t he. ..although it was a good question, wasn’t it!
She started walking, pushing off in the direction of the big log roll seeing as it was the first of their little games. It’d be the easiest one to knock out of the way without mess or damages. Leaving her tilting her head with a thoughtful consideration.
“You think me aggressive with everything. It’s not that I want to fight you or grind you down, I just want to play. With magic or strength or anything else, with all the energy and enthusiasm that I have. …and it’s generally too much for everyone, including you. So of course I am going to jump at the chance to go toe to toe with you at something, it is whimsy and fun without you thinking I’m trying to murder you.” She explained with a moment of candidness and a gentle shrug of her shoulders. Veering again to bump lightly against his arm.
“If I lose I loose, and if I win… well, I’ll be enjoying running that mental image of you in a kilt over in my head for decades to come. I might even paint it to immortalize it forever.”
Of course he was curious to why she was agreeing at all if she felt that it would be an unfair balance. While it did finally do something to his ego for her to acknowledge he wasn’t some feeble weak little demon that couldn’t do anything besides flinging spells around, it didn’t diminish his thoughts about why agree at all.
It was easy to push off after her when it came to getting the whole challenge portion underway.
And finding her pretty green eyes on him with the reveal of information. “Love, yah are aggressive nine times outta ten. The only real time yer sweet and gentle with me is when yah want to snuggle up. Otherwise yah have a grin like a tigress. Its lovely but sharp, with a real threat of daggers being in someone’s arm regardless if they understand yah wanna play or not.” He honestly didn’t mean it as he once would have. As a bad thing, but it was just facts. Calia was not a soft person.
Oh she could be, when she felt like it but it wasn’t her natural personality. She was rough and tumble. Happy to stab someone in the neck with a smile because they were behaving in a manner that was wholly disrespectful. She didn’t turn the other cheek, she fought for everything she felt was right exactly at that moment.
She was absolutely tenacious but that didn’t mean she showed very well that she could be gentle. And it wasn’t just like soft pets or a gentle word, it was how she looked at you.
He’d only been on the receiving end of her sweeter looks more recently and he wasn’t even sure she knew that. Didn’t know how to say it either without her retracting them too. And he knew all this because she didn’t want to look small or weak or pathetic –which she wasn’t any of them.
“It’s too much for me cause I don’t know what to say that ain’t guna upset yah unintentionally or turn yah into bein’ rightfully pissed at me because I didn’t do somethin’ the right way.” He stated declaring his behaviours were honestly often just wanting to keep her happy. And right now, “I enjoy it more when yer beamin’, not broodin.”
Her soft bump was enough for him to gently hum that turned into a roll of eyes. Where she expressed that she would be enjoying his loss that wasn’t about to happen, “Yeah well, yer brushes are guna have to find somethin’ else to paint, that’s for damn sure.”
Calia had thought she’d at least tempered most of her sharp edges, but it seemed she’d not even come close to smoothing herself out into someone that was approachable. Then again, who was she kidding, she was never going to be like those soft and gentle sorts. The ones that drew people in with relaxed charisma, invoked those feelings of wanting to be protective or cherished. Calia was a tiger with claws and teeth, admirable in many ways but not one anybody could ever truly feel comfortable and safe with.
That was fine. These days she was finding acceptance about the aspects of herself she couldn’t change. Maybe one day this wouldn’t bother her either. Until that day…
“I don’t like you’re afraid of me,” she admitted. Oddly enough, it was getting easier and easy to actually be open and honest about such things. They didn’t spark up that instant desire to run away, even if sometimes it made her heart twist a little. “Well, afraid to upset me, like I am going to turn on you the second you say things I don’t like. I don’t want to be like that.”
She took in a deep breath, a truly because he said he liked her better breaming and not brooding, that was enough for her to let some of those feelings go to shoot him the cheesiest, stupidest, cocky grin she could dig up from the depths of her soul. Something so purely stupid that it couldn’t be anything but the real thing.
“And that is exactly why we’re going to be the biggest fools of the Hog Wolly, and while you’re getting swarmed by all the ladies wanting to see those bare legs in your fine highland tartan, I’m going to be giggling away so utterly sloshed at the bar that they’ll have to carry me out in a wheelbarrow.”
He was about to correct her that he wasn’t afraid of her, but she caught it. Adjusting to state that she wasn’t a fan of him being uneasy about how to speak with her if it may have the higher chance of upsetting her. She was learning –he knew that and hoped he was replicating it in kind. But it was not something that could just be fixed with a snap of fingers and that, he did not hold against her. “I know and it’s a learnin’ curve. Somethin’ we both are workin’ on, gotta have credit there.”
By no mean did he speak to shame her but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it either. Tell her that she was sweet like a spring flower that was just happy to have sunshine, she absolutely wasn’t. She was fierce and deadly and had a strong willed personality that as she once said, had big emotions. It wasn’t wrong but he also knew in his heart of hearts, that Calia was never going to be soft and sweet for the comfort of knowing she could be without judgement. The girl was always aware of everything and he suspected she wasn’t with him either because of some internal thought that he was going to judge her.
Even he preferred the gentler moments because it meant he could be open and real with someone a lot easier. Rather than feeling like he needed to be on guard. It was easier to breathe.
For now with the topic properly set aside and the approach to the log roll was coming up in spades, lips curled into a smirk. Meeting her dumb cocky grin as she really was hellbent thinking that out of all this, she was going to win at all. “I don’t think a wheelbarrow is guna be the thin’ takin’ yah out. We already seen the husband raid, yah just very well may have the Calia raid for when the blokes see the beautiful feisty woman at the end of the bar.”
God he didn’t want to wear a kilt. He wasn’t going to wear a kilt!
“I might’ve been an advisor in trainin’ but my experience is hand over foot in jester antics.” The fool he would be!
With the approach to the muddy little pen that was the tipping logs, eyes veered upwards to the two contestants currently perched upon the grand felled logs. Standing over the pit that was meant to act as a cushion to their eventual falls but being sure that they were suitably slimed in the freshest autumn muck.
There was a crowd present –where wasn’t there a crowd?- and it seemed the man in the blue kilt on the left side was practicing their audition for the ballerina recital that was going to be here next week. Arms were held outwards, maintaining that of their balance and trying so very hard not to look down into the awaiting muck. Hair of vibrant dusty copper tied back into a thick braid and beard seemingly having two of its own as a sort of unanimity of facial hair. With eyes practically bugging out in the effort to keep moving with the rolling log without going too far one way or another.
The other, had clearly done this before. A bit more limber and lithe with muscle as he stood with the green and red kilt. Arms crossed and wearing the sort of smugness that already screamed that he had this well in hand. His beard was stained with bouts of salt from his elder age but the man was hardly feeble. Merely wearing that alongside the kilt as a sort of pride that was meant to intimidate the other. It certainly seemed to be working and well, Arc found himself to be partially intrigued.
He nudged Calia lightly with his elbow, the motion almost lazy—but the look he gave her was anything but. It was the look of a man about to make trouble for the sheer joy of it. His first challenge, his stage, and he knew it. No ladies first this time. He rolled his shoulders back, mouth already curling into that insufferable, smug expression that existed solely to ruffle feathers.
“Is this really all there is to it?” he drawled loudly enough for half the ring to hear. “Yah stand on a log and what… hope gravity forgets about yah? I’ve seen elven children do harder balance drills before they were ten.”
The reaction was immediate!
Mutterings rippled through the crowd like wind through tall grass. A few scoffs. A few sharp curses. Several people glared at him as if he’d just spat in their mead. Someone muttered something about “fancy-pant tree rat,” and another about outsiders not knowing how to keep their tongues behind their teeth. Arc drank it all in like a man sampling a fine vintage for it was exactly the type of reaction he wanted.
But one man did not mutter. No, he simply stared.
Broad didn’t begin to describe him. He looked carved from a block of stubborn earth—thick neck, thicker shoulders, beard like a winter thicket. His head was wide enough that Arc briefly thought it might have its own weather. Honey-brown eyes fixed on him with the kind of intensity usually reserved for mortal insults or blood feuds. The man wasn’t just annoyed, he was offended! Deeply and so personally.
It was the look of someone who had just watched a stranger insult his homeland, his traditions, and possibly his ancestors in one breath. “Leave it to an elf,” The man said, voice low but carrying, “To not understand the tenacity and grace that goes into keeping one’s balance.”
Arc sighed, long and theatrical, as if the weight of mediocrity had finally grown too heavy for his delicate elven soul. “Please,” He said, waving a dismissive hand. “Elf. That’s all we are. Grace, balance, stamina, finesse. This—” Gesturing loosely toward the log where a younger competitor windmilled his arms to avoid eating mud, “—Is barely a step up from bein’ a pig on a spit.”
A few people physically stepped back, as though blasphemy might splash back at them! And he leaned in just a little more, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. “And I’m right about the pig part. Yah’ve already got the mud.” Helpfully pointing toward the churned pit for emphasis. “Honestly? This is just sad to watch. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut rope. “Oh could yeah?” The broad man said, turning fully toward him now. Up close he was even more imposing, standing just under Arc’s nose but carrying himself like he was twelve feet tall and six miles wide. His pride had been hooked, dragged, and set on fire—and he was smiling but it was the sort of bend that was all hatred. “You think you could do this with your eyes closed?”
Arc tilted his head, all feigned innocence. “It’s what I said. I’m sorry, do yah need yer ears cleaned out?”
That absolutely did it. A wicked grin split beneath the man’s beard, white teeth flashing like drawn steel. He was affronted, yes—but beneath that was something hotter. Relief. The chance to crush this arrogant, needling elf in front of everyone. And to show off just how much of a mountain man he was! “Well then, elf,” he said, voice rising so the nearby crowd could hear, “Why don’t you put your feet where your mouth is?” He hooked a thick thumb toward the log. “I’m sure all of us would love to see how you do up there.”
The surrounding circle tightened immediately, anticipation crackling. This had gone from entertainment to spectacle. Exactly what he wanted.
Arc glanced back toward the log with exaggerated consideration, humming softly like a man debating dessert and not that he was about to swan dive into the muck! Then he looked back at those honey-brown eyes and smiled. “Easy enough.” It was the kind of sweet that should have set off alarms. Somewhere behind them, the competitor finally lost their footing and hit the mud with a wet smack that sent up a cheer—but Arc barely spared it a glance. He had already decided the moment belonged to him. “Don’t cry once I prove my point,” He added on lightly.
His fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and then he pulled. About to meet these men exactly tit for tat! Making the action neither hurried or shy. Rather a single smooth motion, all deliberate flourish and shameless theatrics, like a performer taking the stage. Fabric slid free and Arc tossed it over one shoulder— and by no means was he slight or delicate as most elves were. And those very assumptions people carried about elves, died quietly in the dirt.
He was carved.
Lean muscle flowed across his chest and shoulders like something sculpted rather than grown—defined, honed, and unmistakably powerful. Not the bulk of a brute, but the kind of strength that spoke of control, of precision, of a body built for speed and lethal grace. His torso tapered into a narrow waist, ribs subtly defined beneath smooth skin that caught the light with a faint, warm sheen.
And then there were the runes, something he could have glamoured away but found it was best to keep them present. To add to the effect of how elven he was.
They glowed faintly across him, soft lilac lines etched into flesh like living starlight. They traced along his collarbones and curled down his sternum, spilled over his ribs in intricate arcs, and vanished beneath the line of his belt. When he turned slightly, more could be seen—ink-like sigils flowing across his back, winding down the strong plane of muscle there in elegant, ancient patterns that seemed to breathe with him. “Don’t want my shirt catchin’ some stray mud from yer fall,” He said casually, as though he hadn’t just detonated half the crowd’s composure.
He glanced back at the bearded man—his chosen rival now—and caught the flicker there. Surprise with some obvious irritation. A grudging awareness that this might not be as easy as he’d hoped. But it lasted only a moment. Then the man’s jaw set harder, pride roaring back to the surface. If anything, Arc’s display had only sharpened his resolve. He wanted this now! Wanted to plant his smirking elf face-first into the mud and grind that arrogance into something quieter.
Good.
Arc liked opponents with fire.
He turned, spotting a girl near the edge of the circle who had been staring with wide, startled eyes. With an easy grin, he tossed the shirt toward her. “Hold this for me, my little dove, won’t yah?” She caught it clumsily, flushing scarlet, clutching the fabric like she’d been handed a relic. Embarrassed and delighted but oh so completely unprepared. Easily he gave her a wink to be sure that it was selling how much he meant to do this while saying, she had caught his attention. But that would have to wait, as he rolled his shoulders once more, stepping forward into the ring, eyes bright and wicked. “Come along, friend,” he called, voice lilting with anticipation. “Time to see what an elf can do.” And gave Calia a final look that said, you’re going to lose!
Calia raid? Good gods, he shouldn’t be threatening her with a good time. Even if that good time she was presently imagining was her thrashing a bunch of dudes so badly they’d be crying into their mother’s plaids about a maniacal laughing she-devil.
There was something spectacular about mountain ingenuity when it came to dreaming up pure festive fun. On the surface it was a simple setup, just a log that spun on a spit over a fresh earthy brown mud. Thick enough for at least a dozen grown men to be walking across it with ease if they wanted, yet designed for an intricate balancing act. Strength had to come from having control of one’s posture and legs. To be able to balance when something was attempting to move out from under you. To think quick enough to change course if your wily competition was quick of foot enough to switch it up.
A true competitor knew how to make it fun for the crowd too. The occasional flash of bare cheek was all in good fun, but there was definitely an element of showmanship involved, otherwise watching someone tumble into the mud over and over wasn’t nearly as compelling!
The second Arc opened his mouth loud enough for the crowd to overhear, she was lifting up her hands and backing away. Painting that innocent, bewildered he’s not with me! look on her face, because she was absolutely not about to be associated with him if he were about to become the festival’s most hated heel! And of course he was leaning into being an absolute prat in a way that she hoped didn’t eventually end with her having to defend his honor later in the evening when a group of highland thugs tried to beat his ass.
Calia found a spot on the ring line to sit – the perfect spot really, as she wasn’t going to miss this nonsense for the world.
Don’t forget you have to win a few to make that inevitable defeat all the more satisfying for your adoring public. she reminded him, voice full of warm humor so much that it was seen plain as day in the grin she wore too.
This really was the best idea she ever had!
Oh don’t worry my little fearless fae, I’ll make sure it’s good show. Just remember that when I win. He offered back to her as he made his saunter to that of the whole arrangement of the event. Having no reason to rush because that only would express he was both eager and not assessing the situation correctly. And his lack of thrill in that was the first thing properly noticed. He was taking this seriously… well as seriously as the wager would allow!
Where others approached with nerves disguised as bravado or bravado disguising nerves, Arc walked forward as though the space had already bent itself around him. The mud pit below churned in slow, unpleasant breaths, dark and glossy, smelling of wet earth and crushed grass. The timber stretched across it rolled lazily in its braces, deceptively calm, like a predator pretending sleep.
He could see the thrill about this even as he stepped up with a glance back to the crowd. Waiting only for a mere second as he stepped onto it, the wood immediately shifting underneath – eager and entirely treacherous—but he did not stiffen. The motion traveled up through him like a ripple through silk, and he answered it without thinking. One step. Then another. By the third, it was clear he wasn’t balancing against the log. He was moving with it. Making a spectacle with a whole silent see, child’s play.
A murmur spread outward whilst he walked the length to his position without a single care in the world. Arriving right where he ought to be as that had always been the intention. Then he turned, slow and loose, and looked back over his shoulder. Waiting with a held silence that was the initiation to the other.
The broad man answered it with a snort and the crack of his neck. Stepping forward, boots biting into churned earth, and lifted his voice so it rolled across the ring like distant thunder. “Name’s Torren MacDarraidh,” he called, pride sitting easy in the syllables. “And I’m the one about the give you a proper thrashing, elf.”
The name sparked recognition. A ripple of laughter. A few knowing cheers. People leaned closer, eager to see just how this was all going to play out. And it was going to be a play, because no where in his own head did he believe that this was simply going to be a show of balance. This was war and he had now become the villain that was going to be thrown off the cliff.
Arc dipped his chin. “Arc,” he replied, voice light. “I’ll try to make it entertainin’ for yah.”
Then Torren climbed the log. The timber lurched sharply beneath the added weight, spinning faster, but where Arc had flowed, Torren planted. His stance spread wide, boots gripping with the certainty of a man who had done this since boyhood. He did not move like water, no he moved like a landslide learning patience. The contrast between them drew a roar from the crowd.
Torren tested first. A sharp shove, quick and brutal. A physical declaration that this was now beginning and there would be no time to banter too terribly much.
The log spun beneath them, mud sloshing below—but Arc simply turned with it, pivoting in a smooth arc that stole the violence from the motion. His feet adjusted in small, precise increments, knees loose, posture untroubled. It was not balance, it was fluency.
“Oh, you’re quick,” Torren muttered, circling the log over itself, seemingly a little surprised but mostly annoyed that he hadn’t flown off face first downwards.
Arc’s grin flashed, easy and infuriating. “I try not to be disappointin’.”
The next shove came harder. Arc slipped sideways into it, letting the force carry him into a clean turn. The runes along his ribs shimmered faintly as his torso twisted, pale lilac light catching in the hollows between muscle and bone. When he settled again, it was with the same careless grace, as though the world’s axis had merely shifted and he’d chosen to follow.
The crowd began to laugh then. Not cruelly but delighted. The kind of laughter that comes when something beautiful happens unexpectedly. After all, this wasn’t at all what they had been expecting when they setup this whole Hog Wolly, now was it!
Torren pressed forward again, heavier this time, shoulders driving like a battering ram. Arc stepped back—and then, instead of scrambling to recover, he walked. Three smooth steps along the spinning timber, placed with casual precision, as though strolling through a garden path rather than dancing atop a rolling hazard! He even lifted one hand slightly, a loose flourish that acknowledged the growing roar like a performer accepting applause.
That was when the humor began to die in Torren’s eyes. “You think this is a show?” he growled, advancing those few increments that could be honestly, highly problematic!
Arc’s expression softened—absolutely not apologetic but something quieter. “Isn’t it?” he asked, quizzically. Watching Torren’s face turn red upon its cheeks because how dare he suggest such things amongst that of their traditions! To make light of it.
The log spun faster now, their combined weight driving it into a wild, living motion. Mud splashed upward in dark arcs. Boots slipped and caught. The air filled with shouts and laughter and the rising electricity of a crowd that knew it was watching something worth remembering.
The relentless pressure of a man who trusted gravity and grit more than finesse, Torren was truly making it very clear that this was to be his first and last attempt at such a feat and he met it with infuriating grace. He bent when he needed to bend, twisted when he needed to twist, leaned into impossible angles and recovered with quicksilver adjustments. He almost considered letting the rolling timber carry him through a full turn but knew that would only suggest he was using magic to complete this at all and well, that would be doing too much with a sure fire way of getting his ass properly beaten! So the urge was resisted.
It did not lessen the crowds thunderous roars however and he, fed it all shamelessly!
A wink toward a cluster of spectators. A small, mocking bow after a near fall. Every movement just a shade more theatrical than necessary. He was not merely holding his own. He was enjoying himself, living up to being that fool as promised.
Just clearly his opponent was not enjoying this. Torren’s breath came heavier through his beard now, chest rising and falling with mounting irritation. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he muttered, more to the world than the elf.
Arc’s smile turned almost thoughtful. “Yah’ve got to make the most of a good moment,” he said softly, picking this as his cue to make that change less he actually win this whole nonsense. And give Calia a point closer to getting her damn crazed wish at all!
It was small enough most never noticed. A shift in timing. A fraction too slow. Torren surged again, driving forward with renewed fury, forcing the log into a vicious spin. This time, Arc’s recovery came just a hair late. A wobble. Real enough to draw a collective intake of breath.
Torren saw it instantly, the change in him was absolutely electric. Pride flared bright and savage. “Aye,” he growled, eyes lighting with hungry delight. “There yah are.” He pressed eagerly!
The contest reshaped itself in an instant. Torren drove forward with relentless certainty, each step hammering into the spinning timber. The log turned faster, wilder, the margin for grace shrinking with every heartbeat. Arc gave ground now—not dramatically, not clumsily, but visibly. A step too far back. A turn just slightly delayed. The effortless dancer now looked almost human.
The crowd leaned in, breath caught between laughter and tension.
Torren lunged again, seizing the moment with a final, crushing shove. Victory upon his tongue and Arc… let his foot give way into a slip!
For a heartbeat, he teetered on the edge of losing everything, and then he fell.
But even falling, he made it beautiful! Instead of tumbling straight into the mud, Arc twisted mid-drop, body folding and turning with instinctive precision. His hand brushed the spinning log once, using its motion like a lever, and he pushed away from it—redirecting the fall just enough. He hit the grass beyond the pit hard enough to feel it, landing squarely on his backside with a breath-stealing thump.
Not mud but a proper impact to sell the fact that he had gotten overly cocky and met the hubris of the log and victor upon it.
The crowd erupted in a chorus glee! Torren remained atop the log for half a second longer, chest heaving, then threw both arms up with a victorious shout that dissolved into thunderous cheers. He jumped down a moment later, landing heavily, laughter already breaking through the last of his fire.
Arc stayed where he was for a moment, blinking up at the sky as if recalibrating his relationship with gravity. Then he laughed too—soft at first, then fuller, rubbing the back of his neck as he pushed himself upright. Grass clung to his skin, runes still glowing faintly against the warmth rising beneath them. He lifted both hands in surrender, sheepish and unguarded. “Well,” he admitted, breathless but smiling, “I think it’s safe to say I’ve been properly shown up.”
Laughter rippled through the onlookers, warm and approving. Arc dusted his palms together and dipped his head toward Torren. “Seems I ought to know better than to contend with mountain men on their own turf.”
Torren blinked, surprised—and then barked a booming laugh that shattered whatever tension lingered. He stepped forward and clapped a massive hand onto Arc’s shoulder hard enough to jolt him half a step. “Yah’ve got spirit, I’ll give yah that,” he said, still grinning. “And feet like a damned wind-dancer. Not bad at all for a first go.”
Arc inclined his head, accepting the praise with easy humility. “High praise from the man who tossed me off a log.”
Torren chuckled, the earlier heat melting into something warmer. “Ah, don’t look so wounded. you made it a fine match.” He jerked a thumb toward the lantern-strung paths winding away from the field. “Come find me later, elf. We’ll share a few drinks. Any man who can laugh at losing like that deserves at least one round on me.”
Arc’s grin returned, slower now, less sharp and more genuine. “I’d be a fool to refuse that.”
Torren clapped him once more before turning back toward the cheering crowd, already being swallowed by back-slaps and shouted congratulations. And for a fleeting moment, Arc stood there in the grass—shirtless, runes glowing faintly, smile lingering—looking every bit like a man who had lost exactly as much as he meant to. And slowly throwing a look towards Calia with a slow smirk. Oh no… I lost…
Truly Archimedes was a jester of the highest caliber, for he had the crowd hanging on his every word and breath. For every soul he’d offended and had jeering at him, there were just as many full amused and delighted by the pageantry of it. Even Calia found herself caught up in the enthusiasm, giving plenty enough cheers of dunk the elf! and cackling laughter.
He cut a fine form too, line with the soft shimmer of those tattoos, more than holding his own in comparison to any of the hulking monoliths that were the highlanders. With Calia taking in her own private appreciation of what was unseen, in twinkling violet hues of eyes filled with mischief and mirth, along with the curl of nebulous horns. Even if she failed today, this was plenty enough of a nice visual to last her a lifetime.
…but a kilt would still be even better!
There was no doubt that this was a perfect challenge for the demon, if one remembered the challenge was acting a fool and winning over a crowd. While Calia could see just how easily he could’ve won it, the real skill was how flawlessly he made his loss look genuine. So perfectly timed with a misstep here and a small stumble there, that if she weren’t watching him like a hawk, she would’ve believed he’d been bested!
You ought to be all muddy right now, I feel short changed!
Despite the complaint, the humor in her voice was quite clear.
Of course, it also meant it was her turn to do a bit of showboating. But how did one follow up an antagonistic elf with a saucy attitude? Born and bred of the mountains just like the rest of them, she wasn’t going to be nearly as entertaining. This round was definitely going to go rewarded to Arc, at least in terms of theatrics so Calia might as well make use of it for a different purpose.
She stood up on the ring side, swaying in the breeze like she’d had one too many ales back at the tavern.
“Well, I can stay up there at leassssst as long as an elf~!” she shouted out, even adding a little lit to it. It didn’t take much to be a convincing drunk, there was more than enough of them standing around, now chortling themselves and even agreeing they could do it too!
“And who are you then!” screamed back some devilishly gingered dame who practically had a beard herself.
Calia puffed herself up, tilting a little before righting herself and inhaling enough breath to yell almost at full volume. “CALIA ARYN DALGAARD OF CAELDALMOR.”
Now that was a name that sent ripples of murmurs and interest across the crowd. Calia watching keenly without looking too sharp, hunting for signs of recognition or recent events. Finding very quickly that while they seemed to know the name Dalgaard if at least by clan, they didn’t know her, and more alarmingly, didn’t seem all that surprised, confused, or even alarmed. Did that mean no refugees made it through the northern passes? That no demons had come this way, despite the fact she could feel her heart pulling even farther north?
“Oy! Go back to your farming, yah useless valley girl!” bellowed a beast of a man, whose jeer got a food good chuckles. “And leave drinking to us real mountain folk!”
“YEAH? Can’t have your ALE without the HOPS and BARELY, you thick FUCK!” Calia quipped back so quick with a rise of her middle finger, it caused an audible gasp in the crowd and an eruption of cackling laughter. “Come up and try me! I’ll take on a dozen of you and you’ll be eating mud and cursing my name in ten seconds!”
She’d managed to piss off that one enough that he was already weaving to through the crowd, muttering curses about valley farmers upstaging his good name. Even better a couple others had taken the bait as well, drunk enough to not care if they were going to be fools playing a fools game. One more also whooped a holler that she wanted to be involved, which brought it up to four challengers – not a whole dozen, but four plus Calia was plenty enough to make a fair spectacle to at least be as entertaining as a good looking mouthy elf.
The first two to step on the log had a rough enough time, being properly actually sloshed, so when Calia stepped on she quickly realized just how much of a complete disaster this game was about to be. The other woman and finally that angry beast were last and well… what a glorious mess it became.
There was absolutely no need in the slightest for Calia to pretend she was a flailing drunk, somehow miraculously keeping on her feet. The woman was the bravest and perhaps the most sober, but she’d made her attempt to get Calia to fall and instead sent her own self down face first in the mud within those initial ten seconds. The huge beast manage to take out one of the drunker men just by way of Calia suddenly ducking him making a grab for her.
Then? The real game began. The jeering, the taunting, Calia’s flailing screaming when she nearly went sideways along to grab onto the log so quick that she could practically feel the cool wetness of the mud grazing her back before she somehow scrambled to get back to steady feet. She could’ve been elegant, graceful, beautiful. Done smooth acrobatics on that spinning log. Instead she was discovering with wild delight that the thing wasn’t as easy as it seemed from the sidelines – this was her genuinely trying and succeeding to stay on just by sheer stubborn willpower alone. Her efforts were crowd pleasing in their stupidity, giving everyone the raucous laughter they needed.
Until soon enough it was just her and the man that had a twinkling gleam in his eye. Calia giving him the sort of wide feral grin in response.
“Is your arse as hairy as your face?” she asked him with a breathless laugh.
“Yah wanna have a look then?” he shot back. And damn it all if the bastard didn’t completely upstage her, for her turned around and flipped up the back end of his kilt to moon her and half the crowd along with it.
In her shock she scream-laughed so hard that any sense of balance was completely lost, her foot didn’t plant of solid log but hit air instead and down the went with a great loud SPLAT into the mud below. Confused, flabbergasted, and yet so completely thrilled even when she let out a heavy well fuck under her breath.
Moon-ass up there gave everyone one more good flash before he did his victory dive into the mud.
Calia crawled her way out of the muck, slinging as much of the mud off herself as she could, yet when her eyes finally met Arc’s that fox gleam had appeared again. And suddenly she had fresh new fun ideas, that might’ve very well involved muddy hands and a bit of chasing.
I’m an elf today, love. No mud, it wouldn’t fit the aesthetic. I’ve got to look preeeetty!~ Practically singing back the last bit through that of the tether as he was certainly feeling the lump on his ass from how he avoided the pit that Calia had wanted him to fall into. Because of course she did and then he’d be a muddy mess that would dry into a crumble dirt cloud as they kept going. Yet, he felt properly accomplished with all that had transpired and got a round of drinks to be paid for that would certainly soothe his so battered pride.
Slowly migrating himself over to the crowd that been his audience with a few well timed humble comments about he had clearly overspoken and learnt his lesson. Baring humility that did him well to avoid any fights and of course Torren had been the proper victor. So he had earned his stripes, not losing to a mouthy elf that didn’t know dirt from shit.
And he certainly played up that wounded but accepting bruise to his pride when there was a particularly deep red head that had flashed him a flirtatious smile. Battling long lashes that he had certainly not made his steps over to her by accident. Looking like the pup that needed to be babied a wee bit and boy she was quick to happily lean in to be affectionate with stray fingers. Offering poor baby in such a tone that he was rallying her up quickly to the top of his apparent growing list of potential bed mates this evening.
Then came the second round of their dumbassery with Calia acting the drunken fool and earning herself quite the arrangement of souls that found her to be worth the lark. Drunk and sober alike, he leaned into his newly adorned darling for the moment and looked every bit confused. Maybe a bit properly sheepish that he had set off this chain reaction but not about to stand up and start trying to calm the disorder. Because well he wanted to also be part of the crowd of gawkers to the girl that was loudly declaring just who she was and… not a soul seemed to be that aghast by it.
Actually they didn’t seem to much care which was… sufficient to say concerning. Something they’d have to discuss certainly but not now. Not when Calia was lining herself up to take a few onto the rolling timber and start the newest bout of insanity that was certainly more than he had started with. Although the first few were too hammered to be of actual use. Finding themselves quickly in the muddy drink and the farmer girl managing to stay upon the very log. To best the woman that had found herself shortly over compensating to land herself down below with a messy slurp, quickly weedling out the competition one by one by one!
Leave it to Calia to have her last one standing there and to mock them. Asking a question that was shortly answered and I’m guna have fuckin’ nightmares of that ass for the rest of my life! Arc protested loudly through their tether! Haunted by a mountain bears ass with his twig and berries. I did not sign that as part of the wager.
Of course it certainly worked on getting Calia to plummet down into the sloppy mud, to where the whole ordeal ended up being so close to a pig pie, that he might have been inclined to hand over the whole event to Calia simply because of how many she got up there. But retracted the thought because him having seen some other’s man’s junk and ass quickly dissuaded his intention to give up that one.
He was about to make certainly some deeply charismatic comment to that of his current arm candy but the misfortune of having crossed azure gaze with those of a gleaming green, and he knew exactly what that look was. It was every bit of mischief and faeish problems about to be exactly his and well, he immediately reacted. “I’ve got to run, suddenly, my darlin’ little firefly—don’t go dim on me while I’m gone.” He murmured, the words spilling out warm and breathless, as though even he hadn’t planned them until the moment they existed.
One arm slid behind the small of her back in a fluid, effortless motion, drawing her close before she could think to protest. Then the world tilted, dipping her with a dancer’s confidence, the crowd blurring into color and noise behind them, and for a heartbeat she was suspended there—caught between laughter and gravity, between surprise and something far more dangerous.
There wasn’t even a ounce of hesitation, as he certainly had done this before! He stole the kiss like a thief who knew the clock was already against him—fierce, spontaneous, and utterly unapologetic. His mouth found hers in a rush of heat and mischief, the kind that made it feel less like a performance and more like a secret shared in plain sight. While it was brief, it carried the weight of something reckless, a spark struck hard and fast, bright enough to leave a mark. When he pulled away, it was not gently, but with the same breathless momentum, as though stopping longer might ruin the magic of it.
Quickly setting her upright with surprising care, fingers lingering only a fraction too long at her waist before he let go. Leaving her standing there, wide-eyed and stunned, chest rising too quickly, lips parted as if she’d forgotten what she’d had been meaning to say. The noise of the crowd rushed back in but she barely seemed to hear it. Instead, she stared at him—cheeks flushed, looking utterly undone and impossibly impressed all at once, like she’d just witnessed a trick she couldn’t quite figure out and didn’t want explained.
Arc only flashed that crooked, dangerous grin, already stepping backward into motion. Then he turned and bolted out the crowd, laughter trailing behind him like a ribbon only managing a quick snatch of his shirt from the other woman paired with at hasty thankyouverymuchsweetness, tugging the garment on so he could zip out of the mess of bodies to escape whatever devious plan was writing itself within Calia’s mind and on her pretty little features!
If Calia had ever wondered if she were truly a hunter by nature, it was certainly proven the moment he bolted off running. Unsure if that blasted dramatic rogue’s kiss to yet another pretty dame was helping to fuel the fires of that instinct or not – once she caught him, he was going to get it. If she managed to figure out what the it was.
She took off after him like a wild dog, and perhaps in some other time and place it might seem unusual for a muddy woman to be chasing a tall elf through a crowd – not at the Hog Wolly! Unless she’d been screaming thief! or murderer!, it was safely assumed this was impetuous youths doing what youths did. A flirt having stolen kisses, an angry girlfriend, a fight over a game, hells it could have even been a personal husband raid. All people did was get out of the way as to not accidentally get muddy hand prints on their own selves, although perhaps one or two was in the sport of getting in the males way just to see what would happen if she caught up.
While she could’ve caught up to him in a blip of a second if she used magic, Calia was being very careful to avoid it altogether. So when she realized she wasn’t going to catch him with speed, she ducked behind a structure to disappear within the crowd. Crawling along nice and low amongst bare legs and ankles until she was certain he’d lost sight of her.
The tether was always going to give her away, but that didn’t mean he’d expect how she came at him.
When she pounced it was swift and from above, leaping off the back of wagon to land on his back and cling like the most filthy mud goblin! A menacing giggle in his ear while she made extra sure to lay a nice sweeping handprint to his face.
“What was that about aesthetic! Nobody trusts a clean elf!”
Surely by the end of the day, the two of them were going to be on a number of waggling tongues. For a variety of reasons too!
There was at some point a round of excuse me, pardon me as he raced through those as best he could without full on body tackling them to get the hell out of his way. Not to say that the thought hadn’t crossed vividly over his thoughts but did he really want to start a potential brawl this soon? No, he had to time that stuff out so it would be a tale told at future Hog Wolly’s that him and Calia wouldn’t be present for in body. Spirit, absolutely.
Although his attempts of being pleasant while needing to be excused were shortly showing that some were happy to get in the way once they realized that he was being chased by the muddy little mountain woman and absolutely did want to see her catch up. Nearly rethinking that bulldozing ox method but did resort maybe once or twice to blinking in a puff of smoke to get through those. Leaving them bedazzled that an elf had been there and suddenly across the way to escape. Earning a holler from himself that was somewhere between a thanks and ha, eat that sucker!
Fortunately for her Calia, he wasn’t exactly paying that deep of attention to the tether. It was present, sure but it wasn’t the forefront of thought. So when she started slinking around and he was hopping on feet to check for where that sloe crowned darting muck skink was, he made the worst mistake anyone in a chase scene could have.
He slowed and gawked. Tilting attention left and right only for the last second to start as the descending fae came from the air. Leaping from a wagon to saddle up like he was some wild bronco that needed taming. And she clung as he was quickly slicked with her dirty additions, “Blarg!” Futilely attempting to lean his face away from where she helpfully applied him with new makeup and was giggling in that of ear.
Perhaps the expected outcome was that he’d flail harder, limbs windmilling in some heroic but ultimately useless bid for freedom—but Arc was no whiny bitch. Well, not unless the audience was particularly receptive. Instead, he simply huffed like a disgruntled noble forced into manual labour and reached back, scooping under her legs with exaggerated ceremony as though hoisting up a princess rather than a mud-splattered menace. The living backpack—now adorned with a rather unfortunate layer of swamp chic—got a firm shove higher up onto his shoulders as he straightened with all the dignity a man could muster while actively dripping.
He stuck his tongue out immediately after, grimacing at the lingering taste of mud like he’d just sampled the culinary sins of the earth itself! “Ugh—gods above and below, that’s foul. I don’t think anyone trusts a dirty one either!” Making sure to declare that loudly, words thick with mock scandal. “It’s too on the nose! Literally!” His protest rang out like a performer wronged by the universe, and he shot a wounded look toward the onlookers already beginning to snicker. That only made it worse. Arc drew himself up taller in retaliation, chin tipped high as if he were enduring some grand public humiliation for the sake of art.
“And I was doin’ so well too,” he lamented, dragging out the sentence like a tragic monologue delivered on a rain-slick stage. “Not a stumble, not a misstep, not a single moment of undignified chaos—” Pausing just long enough to adjust her weight. “I should’ve added a clause to the bet,” One continued, voice warming with renewed mischief, lips already curling into a crooked grin. “A very important, legally bindin’ clause.”
He turned his head just enough to flash her a sideways look, azure eyes glinting with playful menace and entirely too much delight for someone currently caked in mud. “That when I inevitably kick yer little rump in the end, yah’ll be drawin’ me a bath,” Arc said, tone syrupy with mock authority. Then, because he was physically incapable of leaving well enough alone, he added with a flourish, “And not just any bath. Oh no! A luxurious one. Bubbles. Oils. Dramatic lighting.” He sniffed, trying and failing to look refined while a streak of dirt ran down his cheek. “With a maid outfit.” He held the last words like a punchline meant for the heavens themselves, shoulders shaking with a laugh he didn’t bother to hide. Not a hint of real irritation lived in him—only theatrical outrage and the delighted chaos of someone who would absolutely lose another round if it meant he got to complain about it properly.
For every complaint and huff he made, Calia only laughed louder, not concerned in the slightest for the more theatrical he was, the more she knew he was perfectly amused and having a grand time of playing up the spectacle for anyone curious enough to be casting a glance their way. He even earned a squeezing hug for all his efforts, tightening her arms around him while bunting her forehead against the side of his own head with sincere candid giggling delight of her own. This time not intending to spread more of the mud around, it was simply a happy consequence.
She only loosened her arms when he declared he should’ve added a clause – to which she gave a curious “Oh??” and was rewarded with the sort of mischief look that Calia ought to maybe have been worried about. Blinking with tempered amusement when he suggested amending his request to demanding she draw him what sounded like the most ridiculous of royal baths. As if that would be difficult at all!
With a maid outfit.
There was no hiding her immediate look of disgust, the wrinkled up nose and the scoff she made. Absolutely fucking not.
“You know what, fine. That sounds like a horrifying enough sort of torture that there’s no chance in the hells I’ll lose now. You can daydream about me in a little apron serving up drinks and pouring bubbles all day, because that’s the only way you’re going to see it!”
Well they were the spectacle and he was damn sure going to make sure that whole view continued well into the night. Uncaring and unbothered that he was providing quite the show of lamenting complaints whilst marching them along to the unsung tune of their own mischief. Completely unknown to be more than what they appeared and tantalizing those little nerves of delight for it all!
But of course he had spoken about amending the wager, so imagine his wicked grin when Calia looked perfectly disgusted at his addition. Mostly cause the maid outfit and found that they had finally had an equal disdain for being potentially put into something they absolutely would not wear!
Eyes practically glowing when she said fine. The wager could be amended because she wasn’t at all going to let him win such a thing in which, “Oh petal, yah can claim and deny and declare that it ain’t guna happen but how cute yer guna be all dressed in ruffles and a short skirt that one sneeze and yer bum is guna be peekin’ out!” Arc laughed brightly as he sidestepped a group of souls that seemed to be debating which direction they were going. Being more of a roadblock than a door. “What was that comment, yah would paint me if I lost in that damnable kilt. Well I might have to flex some magical artistic muscles to do very much the same when yah lose to me. Keep it as a painted memento to have for all the live long years.”
Giving her a bounce, “Shall we go and try the challenge number two then? See how feisty yah are with the ladies before yah make them cry and lose because yah win the brawl?”
Ruffles. She could’ve ground her teeth at the mere thought of ruffles. Better yet, Calia was seriously contemplating biting him out of pure spite. There was the perfect position to do so, and while he was howling in pain because some viper woman had sank her teeth into his neck, they’d surely be a scene to behold!
He bounced her and she very nearly gave into the intrusive thought, burying her face into his neck with a soft sort of warning snarl that had no heat or irritation in it whatsoever. Worse she was finding it very hard not to break back into that wild grinning, and give the false impression that she’d enjoy parading around in some stupid frilly little outfit, because damn it all! She’d rather gargle salt water!
“Losing a fist fight with style is the easiest thing in the world,” she told him upon resurfacing, already pointing a finger onwards and she was for certain intending to ride his back all the way there to ensure that he was as properly filthy as she. “Now are you going to be able to punch a guy without knocking all of his teeth loose? Because I find that highly doubtful.”
The length of ears twitched both out of habit and a bit from a sense of warning from how she was now growling into his neck. As if the sound was translating into Calia-ish and he knew that there was a very likely chance of her being attached to him by that of teeth. Behaving more like a beast of fury than anything else –while also highlighting his former point that she was just naturally aggressive regardless of what they were doing. It would have been a sight to see certainly and one he didn’t want to be a part of because well, who really wanted to be chomped on!
Thankfully she didn’t. Instead pointing the way forward like the navigator on some grand vessel, leaving him to do the walking without a complaint. Weaving through the gaggle of bodies as she proclaimed losing with style was the easiest thing in the world.
“Yah say but I get the feelin’ that with how zesty yah get, yer opponents will be just as or more so. Appears to be a mountain style to get under the skin with intention.” The mountain women and men alike seemed to have a particularly short fuse for what they tolerated. Suspecting that one well timed word to Calia and she very well just might launch onto someone’s face before removing their vocal chords because they had the sheer audacity to speak at her at all.
He kept that to himself, scoffing at the means of being told about knocking some teeth loose. “Depends, is he prettier than me? Cause then I’d have to fix that.” Arc chuckled easily, “I gotta make it worth it, don’t I? I won’t maim anyone, just… helpfully decorate them with some different colours before takin’ the fall with elegance and poise. I’m already filthy, so we got that covered.” Lowly he hummed then, “But you get the first round up on this one, Lia. I gotta gauge the level of allowance by yer own standards and what better way than observation. Plus,” Making a side step so they could approach the collection of bodies that were absolutely watching the whole controlled brawl battle, “I need to make sure I warm up the crowd, I want to get another paid round from someone else when I lose gracefully. And I’ll need clearly a nursemaid to temper my poor pride.”
Yes, he was up to no good and plotting his end in luxury. Preferably in the lap of some pretty dame!
“It’s cold out here in the mountains, you have to get zesty to keep the blood warm,” she told him with a laugh in her voice. Be it fights or flirting around, there was definitely a difference of culture when it came to he day to day living of the mountains clans versus the stable valley kingdoms. In places like Caeldalmor, things were slower, even paced and predictable. They’d called her a farmgirl as that’s what became of clans that settled down in a single place. Farmers of the land and herders of livestock, craftsmen and artists because there was the opportunity to set roots. The roaming clans of the highlands followed the herds of animals they hunted with the seasons, stopping in villages like this one for occasional trade and supply. Only bedding down a structured camp in the deepest winter when it became too treacherous to travel. You had to be tough and harder in a manner of ways to keep oneself living!
“Fantastic,” she murmured then at his whole plan of getting loads of free drinks before being pitied and babied by some pretty thing. He was going to have a winning evening, regardless if he won this wager of theirs or not. It almost left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she supposed the only real reason she felt jealous at all was because Archimedes still had plenty of enthusiasm for chasing skirts, while she herself couldn’t seem to dig up an ounce of interest in some handsome bloke despite the fact there was a real buffet of choice to choose from.
Shake off one curse to find herself with another, that was just how it would always be.
Calia was determined not to let such things sour her good mood, however, especially when it’d all been a grand time so far. Only sliding off his back once they’d approached close enough to the fighter’s rings. She didn’t want to go into the fights looking like she just crawled out of a bog, and took the first opportunity she could to take a turn over at one of the rain water barrels to dump a bucket over her head and shake off as much of the muck as she could get. Didn’t do much for making her look clean, but at least she wasn’t going to dry out and cake up like some sort of golem.
A few curious questions to other spectators gave her a good idea of how the brawls were meant to go. You got paired off in a couple matches and had to fight your way up to the last match. Leaning on the sidelines, Calia watched a couple rounds just to get a feel for those unspoken rules. What the crowd cheered and what seemed to get them pissed off, as well as how the fighters themselves handled their wins and losses. People always said men were most brutal, yet watching women when they’d get those sharp gleams in their eye, you had to worry about what was coming at you after the fight if you insulted anybody the wrong way! Once she felt confident, she threw her name into the running for the next round.
The first few fights were nothing more than weeding out the drunk or those that had egos bigger than their skills. Little showboating was to be had for Calia, or any of the others that were taking the competition seriously. The object was to knock your opponent down and out so they wouldn’t get back up again or just get them down long enough they called it. Calia was quick on her feet and fast with her hands, well trained enough how to get somebody on the ground without bruising anything more than their egos.
In those first few rounds it became clear who the crowed favored and who they loathed – one woman with sun bronzed skin and the kind of good looks that should’ve been illegal on a mortal woman seemed to be pissing everyone off with every fight she won. With no surprise either, for not only did she shit talk her opponents in a way that was ghastly, she fought dirty for no damned reason at all other than to be brutal about it. The dark red tartan she wore heralded a clan Calia didn’t recognize, but it clearly was an enemy of most the people there. Something else about her was striking Calia as wrong, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
To the contrary, there were two the crowd cheered with fervent delight. A local brunette that must’ve been just shy of Calia’s height, didn’t look much in terms of brute strength but she was fast and clever and seemed just a little bit bashful by all of the cheering attention, especially since one of them seemed to be her enthusiastic beau in the sidelines. The other was a full orc warrior, not too common in these parts but she was having a great time participating in the games and getting into the spirit of things. Garnering a bit of a following by charismatic personality alone.
As for Calia, well she was somewhere in the middle. Just an interesting stranger that was so far holding her own and nothing more, beyond a few spectators that recognized her from the log roll and were having a good laugh. Which suited her just fine for she wasn’t out here trying to win it, she just had to find her moment of losing gloriously! When it was clearing out to the last few matches, Calia upped her energy to match. Giving a few breathless delighted quip that she was sure as hell sober now, bragging a little bit that she couldn’t wait to take on the shorter girl because she knew she’d win that one before getting her skull bashed in by the orc.
It was little surprise that the two favorites were in the final four, and no shock that the hated woman in red tartan had made it as well. Calia being there was a fun wildcard for spectators, but by far everyone was cheering most for the other shorter girl.
The woman in red tartan was called Bonnie Blaire Cleghorn, and for every ounce of beauty she had, she was just as much a real bitch. The Cleghorn clan usually resided much farther up north and they weren’t known for being peaceful, or friendly, or hell up to fun and games either. So the fact the woman was there at all had a bunch of people uneasy, cause no one seemed to know if she’d traveled out on her own or with the full clan. She strode out into the ring raising her arms up high and flexing an impressive set of muscle before throwing up obscene gestures to the crowd. Calia watched the faces twist and boo before spotting a pair of bodies that seemed to be grinning ear to ear with some suspiciously pleased gleam. Wasn’t alone after all, Calia figured, and surely up to something, but she hadn’t a clue what.
The girl Calia had been most impressed by had the misfortune of being the brute’s first opponent. Niah Lammie had keen eyes and such a good skill that Calia would’ve loved a good spar with her. Her beau was some bookish and lean young man that didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he was cheering her on with so much enthusiasm that it was sending the girl’s cheeks into a dark crimson. Unlike Bonnie, she had a much more humble approach – even tried to offer her hand to shake only to get spat at and called a sour sow’s tit.
Calia had never cheered so hard for someone to get their ass kicked in her life, she’d even forgotten to pay attention to Arc’s shenanigans in the crowd!
Somewhere midway in the fight Calia’s suspicions that something was off only compounded. The fight started off like most of them, Niah had clearly been warrior trained in the same ways that Calia had. There was discipline and thoughtfulness in her movements. She might’ve been on the leaner side, but she clearly had a good amount of strength and knew how to use it. Except the hits just weren’t hitting the way they should’ve been hitting! That Cleghorn woman might’ve been built like a fortress, but Niah was fast and striking spots that’d wind even the burliest of men! And with the way Bonnie swung back, being fast was about the only thing that was making the fight last as long as it did, for when her punches landed everyone in the crowd could hear it.
It all ended to suddenly that was only a shriek before the crowd fell into a stunned quiet. Only to erupt in a loud sort of violence that a few of those referees that were running the event had to shout even louder to simmer everyone down before all out brawl started. Bonne had grabbed the girl’s arm when she’d swung a punch, bent her down and slammed her own fist so hard into her shoulder that bone cracked and shattered. She claimed accident, raising her hands up like what can she do! Despite the shit-eating grin on her face. Nothing about it sat right, everyone with eyes knew it wasn’t right, and yet nothing had appeared to be outside of the rules.
Bonnie won, Niah was out, and Calia was oh so glad to be the one to face her next.
Archimedes had been absolutely right and later she’d loathed to admit it; once Calia had blood on the mind, blood was what she would get. Bonnie Blaire Cleghorn was a top tier shitty person and there was no way in all the hells that Calia would let her move on to the last round.
An entirely new energy had fill the small arena, this was no longer just a friendly game and match. This was somehow the story of all age-old clan wars, bad blood, and festering grudges. Calia who had faced her previous fights with a good attitude and a sense of silliness, understood that right now she was the representation of the people’s fury. There was a certain amount of respect that was meant to be given during these friendly competitions, and old Bonnie Bitch Face had literally spat all over it.
The bell rang and Calia didn’t move an inch, simply stood there wriggling her fingers as Bonnie herself waited for that first swing. When it didn’t come and Calia didn’t speak, the enormous woman with her pretty face sneered.
“Scared, valley princess?” she asked, cracking a wider smile when Calia narrowed her eyes with an unspoken question. “Oh, I know who you are. Ancestor to the great and mighty uniter of clans.”
Calia supposed she was glad to know Caeldalmor hadn’t become some mythical unknown valley, yet wasn’t quite sure if the bitterness in the woman’s tone was a good sign or a bad one. Either way, she remained quiet taking a single step to the side, watching as the other woman did the same. Finding some kind of amusement in Calia’s caution.
“Some uniter, huh? All hunkered down in that valley, safe and sound from us big bad warring clans. Where is the Dalgaard clan now, I wonder? Last I heard their guts were strung up in the trees by demons.”
“What else have you heard? Please, keep on talking. Everyone just loves your stories.” There was not a single person in that crowd that knew why Calia’s calm was a dangerous thing. Not a single one but Archimedes who had seen her get that cool exterior expression, the iciness in her gaze, and the way she smiled with just a flash of teeth. Really, it was a wonder why she hadn’t immediately gone into attack! It might have been the mountain princess was learning bit by tiny bit why it was worth it to wait and linger. To see what just might happen.
In this case, Bonnie Blaire Cleghorn was getting fed up with Calia’s lack of reaction to her taunting. Finally taking upon herself to make the first move, darting forward to take a swing that Calia side-stepped like she was just getting out of the way of a speeding child. Bonnie had good enough reflexes herself that she didn’t go down flailing either, she pivoted to grab and Calia simply spun out of the way again. Strange that she wasn’t trying to counter at all when she was normally so aggressive, but verdant eyes were searching for something, using this almost-dance to get a full head to toe, up close examination of the other woman.
When Calia did finally make her move it was such a fast and hard punch to the chest, there was no blocking it. What it should have done was winded the woman immediately, instead Calia was pretty sure she’d just busted her knuckles on the gods only knew what and looked quiet surprised when Bonnie’s own fist came swinging to clock her right in the jar hard enough that Calia didn’t even know when she hit the ground. Her vision had gone black for a second.
But she’d heard it.
A ting of magic.
And when she glanced up and found old Bitch Ass Bonnie’s friends in the crowd, she could see one of them covering his mouth with his hand and absolutely mumbling some kind of mage bullshit.
She and her fucking friends are CHEATING. she snarled through the tether. Archimedes could do as he pleased with that – this was now a whole new kind of fight for Calia!
“What’s the matter, princess? Finding out the hard way that mountains don’t give a fuck about your crown and oh so noble blood?” cackled Bonnie, leaning over on her knees to continue her taunting. Grinning all the wider when Calia shoved herself up from the ground to get back to her feet.
“You picked the wrong day to crash the Hog Wolly,” Calia told her. It was the only thing she bothered stating, for it was no longer a show for the crowd, but a simple objective to eliminate a problem without herself becoming one! Surely a feat Calia had never attempted before, to use magic in such a subtle way that only involved utterly destroying a single person and not taking out the entire town around her.
Unintendedly, the fight might’ve been one of the most intensely riveting anyone in Boarthorn had seen in a long while. Calia could take a hell of a beating even without magic, when she was weaving it against someone who also seemed to be somehow absorbing hits only to counter twice as strong? It was messy. Bonnie had a penchant for cruelty and hitting where it was going to do the most damages. A crack to her ribs, a kick to the spine. To be fair, Calia didn’t give two shits about playing a clean fight either! At some point she struck the beastly beauty so hard in the side it punctured right through whatever magic enchantment was dulling hits and what a grand noise that was to hear her howling and coughing up blood! Calia had been picked up off the ground and thrown like a sack of potatoes just to get back up again and tackle her with the full force of her shoulders right to the tits.
At some point something shifted, and while Calia wasn’t sure what – if Bonnie’s shitheel besties abandoned her or if the enchantments were running thin, or if it was simply that Calia had finally realized what was tethering the magic to her. She could almost feel the buzz of it in the armored cuffs the hateful bitch wore. When Bonnie came in again for another swing Calia grabbed her wrists and twist, physically it didn’t do much of anything but magically?
Might as well earn that cursebreaker name.
What ever magic held in those very illegal items was corroded away in an instant. Calia jerked her forward and headbutted so hard it might very well have cracked both of their skulls open! Both women hit the ground in stumbling fumbles.
In the end it was Bonnie Blaire Cleghorn that stood up victorious, looking pissed as all the hells and suddenly very alarmed. With Calia on the ground, unable to sit herself up, but laughing oh so proudly and giving her the middle finger. She might’ve lost the fight, but ole Bonnie wasn’t going to make it through the next one.
The start of it once the whole figuring out semantics part came and was understood –it was no more than a bracket sort of style tumble. Beat out your opponent and advance, easy enough. And in that, it was made aware that he at least had to make it to the last three brackets. Not enough to win cause he wasn’t that interested even on a whim, but enough to make it worth it to keep their wager interesting.
And maybe he was a little glad that in this case it was ladies first. Because well, there was always something very interesting in watching Calia fight when she didn’t have the vendetta to take people’s heads as trophies. She was a good fighter, he already knew this. Crafty, intelligent, swift and strong. By all means, she would have made a very impressive knight in any court had she perused it earnestly.
The first bouts she join in were honestly so generic that he suspected she wasn’t remotely any more interested than he was. Just he could go and start scouting around the gathered hollering crowd for some more pretty little fillies that he had every intention of flirting with. After all, he was going to need his own little fan club for his eventual bout so why not recruit some fiery blooded women that liked the fight but didn’t want the blood on their knuckles. It seemed entirely fair to him.
Having managed to find this warm brown maid with clear blue eyes as bright as a day itself, taller than most but not as tall as Calia and she proved to be very interested in that of the elven man. Unbothered by the mud because at this point, mud seemed to be the badge of honour to declare one had participated in the events rather than not. Well he supposed he had Calia to thank for that and happily made himself a comfortable presence that was pulled into her gravitation lure. Keeping an eye on the brackets and taking notes of said fan favourites and dislikes. As any good fight club had. But admittedly, he was a little more focused on trying to sway his newest interest in sharing a drink later and perhaps more. Heavily implying to see her interest.
It wasn’t till the crowd started to get truly angry that his attention turned. Rehoning attention on the matches to realize that Calia had made it far and some big butch woman was clearly the loathed of the loathed. Leaving him to become more enamoured with the spectacle than the pretty little lass attached to his arm.
He was never much of a fighter as an elf. Knew how too, it was kinda necessary when you were a known troublemaker and liked to get into things. Having been in more than a few scuffles and actual fights and brawls alike, but he’d never say he was as attuned or good at it as Calia was. He had always been a puckish imp first and foremost and a powerful mage in a very close second. They two went hand in hand. And it was likely because of those very reasoning’s that he started to pick up the oddities. It seemed to be slightly fueled by the tether, what Calia was noting. And a tang on the air that a mana drenched mage with training picked up with a bit of concentration.
The fan favourite had taken a mighty beating from Bruxlor the Brutish Bitch and he was suddenly more in tune with the fight than he had been before. Because now it was Calia and now he wasn’t interested in seeing which fair dame would be his final pick.
He gave the girl a gentle squeeze, some comment that was lackluster in his attempts to flirt about finding her later and slipped closer to the front of the crowd. Frowning uncharacteristically as eyes flickered here and there to the ring that was their fighters pit. Searching for something that was making that feeling stick out whilst the bell rang and neither woman leapt at another. A quiet sort of change in Calia that he would point out later but for now, he was vastly curious about the fact this Brolly wench knew who Calia was.
So someone knew. And the way it was said didn’t sit right with him. Friends or enemies, this festival seemed like it was important enough to set aside differences. Granted, this woman seemed to have a fantastic chip on her shoulder while appearing to be lording it over others and loathed unanimously by the crowd. He took that into strong consideration before it appeared Broomhilde decided that if Calia wasn’t going to be the first to strike, she would.
At first, Calia was as smooth as a river. Moving past the fists and the intents to tackle. Fluid, stunning and every bit the impressive fighter he knew her to be. Granted, the way she had turn into her notorious ice queen, he knew there was about to be a problem. And honestly, he wouldn’t have been upset if Calia decided this raging heifer needed a strong trough of mud and grit hand fed to her. He was nearly tempted to encourage Calia just to do it! A whole new slice of humble pie, made just for her!
Of course his own bonny lass finally struck and landed a clearly strong hit to the other’s chest. And yet, nothing happened. Not the expected winding or a stumble back, rather Bitchytits came roaring back and struck Calia so hard that she went down. And he seen probably the darkest colour of red he had ever imagined possible, gritting teeth and having to actually stop himself from getting in there immediately. Thoughts screaming loudly that no one hit her like that and got to live!
The ring of magic was there and he felt it. The broadcast between the tether being enough to keep him from actually stepping in, I see. Eyes flitting sideways to locate these said friends and found them easily enough. Hard not to when they were wearing the same colours as the cheating twat and the signature of magic was lightly hitting the air.
It was there, his new plan broke out. Kick her fuckin’ ass, love. Arc merely encouraged as he glanced to either side of himself before melting back into the crowd. Influencing his own magic to make a subtle change to his own appearance that no longer was an elf but simply another human. Gradual as not to catch any attention but certain that he was not about to let this simply go unchallenged.
The two men stood like a pair of iron posts. Thick necked like it was a running theme amongst the mountain clans, watching the fight happen with tilted grins and mirth to a joke they only understood. Save now he was in on it and that was going to be the worst one liner anyone had ever heard.
Arc approached them from behind like a rumor no one heard forming. Keeping it wrapped around him that to anyone watching, he was personally so unremarkable. A lean man in travel-worn leathers and dust clinging to his boots. Hair turned dark to be tucked loosely at the nape of his neck. No horns, no violet eyes, no elven ears or grace to betray him currently. Just another person who had come for the event! To watch the fighting bracket and take in the smell of sweat, ale and churned dirt with a slight coating of blood.
Only to slow about a few paces behind them so he could take a moment to properly study them.
The first man was broader, shoulders like quarried stone, beard braided with bits of bone and metal. The second was thinner, but no less dangerous—sharp-eyed, twitching itchy magic fingers. Arc felt it immediately the faint pressure in the air, like static before lightning. Magic. It wasn’t exactly structured but it wasn’t clumsy either. All threaded outward in careful strands that disappeared into the arena where Calia fought the nearly hooved bitch.
He let his gaze sweep the crowd once.
Farmers with coins clenched white-knuckled in their palms. Traders roaring odds. A child perched on someone’s shoulders, eyes bright with blood-sport excitement. None of them knew. None of them could feel the invisible hooks pulling at the match’s outcome like puppet strings. He wasn’t usually that bothered by cheating but in this case, this was intensely outlandish. Because if Calia wasn’t honouring their wager, he was certain she would have demolished that raging cumsock of a woman. But she was and it meant he was stepping in where she couldn’t currently.
Arc exhaled slowly as he drifted closer to the two igits. The broader man shifted first, senses keen enough to catch movement at his back. He turned slightly, revealing a scar that split his brow like a fault line. “Aye?” he rumbled without fully facing Arc. “You lost, stranger?”
The thinner one smirked without looking over his shoulder. “Careful, Torvan. Might be another drunk lookin’ for trouble.”
Arc said nothing because to give them a voice was an invitation for a conversation. And it was absolutely no invitation he was about to give. Rather, he simply reached inward and opened the door. The magic did not spill out—it unfolded. Quiet as frost creeping over a windowpane. It slid from him in a widening sphere, threading into both men like a thought they did not remember thinking.
And the world… tilted.
The crowd kept moving. Kept shouting. Tankards clanged. Someone laughed too loud. A bell rang from the another one of the arena’s edge. But the sound died before it reached them! Where silence came crashing down like deep dark water.
They turned fully now and froze.
The Hog Wolly remained around them in perfect detail— the churned mud, the frozen shapes of bodies mid-motion—but life had been stripped from it. No sound, or warmth. Even the breath of the wind had stopped.
And standing before them was Arc. Not the quiet drifter, this Arc wore truth like a blade unsheathed. His height seemed taller now, shadow bending around him like a cloak that drank the light. Violet eyes burned, cold and luminous. The air around him warped faintly, as though reality itself recoiled from proximity. The thinner man’s smirk faltered first. “…Torvan,” he said slowly, accent thickening with unease. “You feel that?”
Torvan didn’t answer immediately. His gaze narrowed, assessing. Measuring. Then he spat to the side. “A trick,” he growled. “Some hedge-lord illusion.” He finally looked Arc in the eye. “You picked the wrong men t’play with, boy.”
Arc smiled, deep and properly unkind. “Yer cheatin’,” he said softly. A fact that needed no deeper explanation because really, what would be the point!
Caelan barked a laugh. “Listen t’him. Hear that, Torvan? The pup’s preaching honour.”
Torvan’s lip curled. “Arena’s a blood sport. Only fools fight fair.”
“And only small men and women hide behind such lowborn acts,” Arc replied mildly.
Caelan’s eyes hardened. “Who d’you think you are?”
Arc’s answer was simple. “I noticed yah.” The air shifted, their magic sputtered like candles in a vacuum. The threads they had woven toward the arena snapped back, dissolving into nothing. Torvan’s expression changed—not fear yet, but something closer to irritation edged with confusion.
“…What did you do?” he demanded.
Arc tilted his head slightly. “Yah don’t understand where yah are. Or just whom yah’ve decided to mess with. That’s the problem with unearned confidence, it fuckin’ tricks yah into believin’ yer the biggest and baddest around.”
Caelan’s fingers twisted into a sign, fast and precise. A fracture spell meant to shear through thought itself. Efficient. Lethal to most and he simply watched it form only for him to blink so dully at it when it began to unravel mid-weave. Collapsing into smoke that simply floated up into the air and vanished into the man’s palm like mere ash. Leaving him to look at him and raised an eyebrow as if to say that’s it?
Torvan swore under his breath. “Again.”
Caelan tried only for the result to be worse! The magic didn’t just fail—it recoiled. A sharp, invisible snap that made him stagger, hand flying to his temple. “—ghk!”
Arc studied them the way a cat studied something trembling beneath its paw. “Not much of a magician are yah, if yah can’t tell that yer in a mindscape.” Arc tsked his tongue like he was a mother trying to describe something to a particularly stupid child and getting nowhere, fast.
Torvan snorted, though there was strain in it now. “Mindscape, is it? Then I’ll break it.” Throwing himself suddenly forward with an intention to take him over his knee and break like dry kindling.
He could have simply stepped sideways but rather he merely smirked. Staying put and invoking the world they stood in to fold. Gravity twisted sideways! The ground became wall and Torvan slammed violently into nothing, body yanked horizontal and pinned midair as if skewered by an unseen spear. His snarl broke into a grunt of shock. “—what in the—!”
Caelan stumbled back. “Torvan—?!”
Arc walked between them, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Let’s get this straight now less yah decided yah wanna keep bangin’ yer heads to the figurative wall, yah ain’t fightin’ me,” he said gently. “Yer merely standin’ in a thought I decided to have.”
Caelan’s bravado shattered into raw defiance. “No one does this,” he hissed. “No one—” Enraging himself to just throw out every spell they could conjure and providing quite the spectacle. Dreamfire. Identity-collapse sigils. A storm of desperate, vicious magic hurled all at once.
Arc did not counter, rather deciding that they clearly needed a lesson of show and allowed the items to hit him. Spells striking him and vanishing like rain on a furnace, simply erased rather than deflected or countered.
Caelan dropped to his knees with a choked, silent scream, clutching his skull as backlash devoured his thoughts from the inside. Panic finally bled into his eyes. Leaving Torvan to finally struggled against the invisible force pinning him. “Who are you?” he demanded, voice cracking for the first time.
He decidedly crouched in front of Caelan. There was no anger in his face, keeping only the clear certainty ever present. “Yah just don’t seem to understand scale,” he murmured. “Yah’ve spent yer lives being the biggest storms in small skies.” Violet’s tilted up to consider Torvan. “I am the horizon.”
What followed was not a battle, it was a much needed lesson!
He stretched seconds into eternities and folded their thoughts until memory and hallucination bled together. He let them feel every thread of their own magic pulled taut and plucked until their minds rang like cracked bells. He showed them futures—dozens, hundreds—where they struck him and were unmade, where they ran and were caught, where they never existed at all.
Each ended the same way, Arc standing unphased and they aching and collapsing under their own actions. It was only natural that at first they cursed him. Spat threats, promised retribution in thick northern brogue. But every curse eventually twisted into plaintive pleas.
Arc never raised his voice, didn’t look for the fastest way to break them. It would have been far too easy to do so, instead it was more enjoyable to just watch them break themselves! And when they were finally small enough—when terror hollowed them out and left only the fragile thing beneath—he released them.
The world snapped back. Sound crashed in like an avalanche! Laughter and enraged shouting. The distant ring of steel from the arena. The stink of ale and mud. They stood exactly where they had before! No one noticed, and no time had really changed. Besides the fact that the fight Calia and the other girl had, was coming to a close.
Arc stood between them in his human guise once more, expression calm, almost bored. Reaching out and tapped each of them lightly over the sternum. Applying a bit of additional magic that sank deep down into marrow of their very bones. A binding, elegant and absolute. Seventy-two hours woven into sinew and mind. For three days, their magic would be nothing but echoes.
Torvan sucked in a ragged breath. “…What… did you… do…”
Arc’s voice dropped low enough that only they could hear. “Yah ain’t guna be usin’ any more magic durnin’ this festival. Not even by accident, but yah will learn with yer warhorse over there, how sweet humility is guna taste when other’s come to beat yer asses for what yah’ve done.”
Caelan swallowed hard. “You can’t—”
“Oh, but I can.” The certainty in it crushed the rest of the sentence. But just to be sure of things, he leaned slightly closer. “And yah will not speak of me.” The air tightened like a drawn wire, pulled ever tighter by the faint, humourless smile. “If yah even try,” he added softly, “Yer mouths will forget how to belong to yah. After all, tongues are delicate thin’s.” Leaving it heavily implied that if they tried, well, they’d never be able to speak again after chewing off their own tongue.
He stepped back then, already fading into the press of bodies. Within seconds he was gone—just another faceless shape swallowed by noise and dust. Only glancing back once, maybe twice to see the two Cleghorn men remaining where they stood, breathing hard, hands trembling despite themselves. They could still feel it, the vastness they had touched and survived only because it had allowed them to.
And for the first time in their hard northern lives, Torvan and Caelan Cleghorn understood something with perfect clarity: an Arch Mage had noticed them, and chosen mercy. This time, they didn’t want to meet him for a second time, that much was for certain.
Thick strong arms scooped themselves up under Calia’s and with a great deal of surprise and world spinning she got dragged up to her feet, not by one of the circling referees that were busy trying to calm down the crowd that was even more furious about Bonnie but by the orc woman who was going to be the final fighting opponent. While Calia would probably be find soon enough thanks to sharing that tether with Arc, her legs were tingling all weird and she’d gotten enough knocks in the head to presently be experiencing one very unpleasant sort of headache.
Despite what could’ve been taken as an embarrassing loss, she was riding the high of a completely private victory. As the orc warrior led Calia over to where the prior fighters, including the impressive Niah were nursing wounds, Bonnie was at the edge of the ring trying to get her spineless friends attentions, likely attempting to remedy her sudden loss of magical infused strength.
What really caught her attention, though, was when she was plopped on a stool and the orc knelt down to her eye level. Staring into her eyes with such a serious expression that Calia could only blink back in confusion before she finally recognized what the woman was likely suspecting herself. Giving a nod to the unasked questioned.
“She cheats,” affirmed the orc.
“Not anymore,” responded Calia blooming into the most giddy of smiles. “Show her how a true warrior fights with honor and wins with grace.”
The orc warrioress needed no further explanation, clearly being quite intelligent in her own right to have had her suspicions and gathered assessments of the other fighters in the rounds. She too smiled broadly, wide with shining tusks and sparkling gleam in her eye. Patting Calia on the knee before getting up to prepare for a final fight that was going to be delicious sweet justice.
Calia took in another deep breath, hitching at a particular spot in her ribs that was none to happy, before bending down to scoop a small rock up from the ground. Rolling and shaping it in her palms with a subtle bit of magic until it smoothed all it’s rough edges away and took on more a heart shape. She layered it with something gentle, soothing, before getting up from her stool and shuffling over to where Niah Lammie sat being consoled by her bookish beau. Her features twisted up in an agony of pain while he very carefully was trying to get her limp arm into a sling.
“You were amazing, I thought for sure you were going to win it,” Calia told her, slipping into a seat next to the girl.
“Didn’t you- say you were going to beat me?” she managed to reply with a weak grin and a soft voice.
Calia laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t won a thing today, what do I know,” she cajoled, shifting to gesture her attention to Niah’s arm. “Are you going to be okay? It wasn’t right, what she did. Not much in the spirit of things.”
The beau grunted, immediately looking embarrassed that he had at all, but it was pretty obvious he was ticked off about the entire thing and even with his even temperament he was having a hard time keeping his anger in check.
“Clan Cleghorn never did have much respect for anybody,” he huffed. “Always been bullies and more interesting in trying to take what isn’t theirs, raiding camps and destroying peace of mind. Been worse the past few months, down right dastardly in ways that ain’t seeming right. Mystical. Monstrous.”
Niah sighed a little, trying to give a reassuring smile. “Don’t be speaking stuff like that into the ether, Liam. Not even Cleghorn are so foolish to start messing with things best left sleeping.” she chided him, tilting her attention back to Calia. “I’ll be fine, just going to make work difficult.”
Calia was well familiar with the suspicions and distrust of magic amongst the mountain folks. There were a lot of good reasons why magic wasn’t something widely used and accepted anymore, from legends of the old ice giants to faerie folklore. Witches and wizards who abused such things to the demons and beasts that all feared the most. Apparently, though, Clan Cleghorn was foolish enough to start dabbling in things and that might just be a problem.
“When I was little, my eldest brother used to do this really stupid thing,” she started, opening her her palm to reveal that smoothed vaguely heart shaped rock. “I’d skin my knee or bonk my head and he’d pickup a rock and say something like ‘mountain stones are strong, they can hold all that hurt’, and even when I was small I thought it was dumb, but I’d hold that stupid rock and soon enough I’d feel okay again.”
Very gently she took Niah’s hand, the one now tucked carefully into the sling and placed that stone into her palm. It wasn’t going to suddenly ease all her pain or mend all her wounds – that’d be too much of the mystical things they were so afraid of. But it was enchanted just enough that those shattered bones of hers were going to heal without an issue. Soft, gentle magic they would never know.
“I hope by next Hog Wolly we can meet again and get in a good fight.”
She left them there to do as needed, not having to step too far to find herself reunited with Archimedes who seemed to be looking perfectly pleased with himself as well. The sounds of the last fight were being announced – Ura O’foruk was apparently the name of the orc warrioress, Chief of her Clan – and from the sudden joyous screams of the crowd, things were starting off well in her favor and much to the horror of that bitch Bonnie Blaire.
Calia leaned against his arm, grinning ear to ear. “I can’t feel my feet.”
He was keeping a untelling eye on his two new friends. Not expecting them to do too much now, but they were young. Cocky and plainly they were dabbling in something that he couldn’t exactly tell was natural magic or something gifted. It didn’t much matter because he suspected they’d get full of themselves eventually to try something. If not them, then potentially others. Granted they’d have a hell of a time explaining just whom it was without incurring the helpful little curse that would be sure they lost the ability to speak at all. Hoping honestly that they tried and found out quickly that just because they had magic, they didn’t have understanding of it.
And he personally hoped the orc woman dominated that butchy bitch till her face wasn’t pretty anymore and she had nothing left but a miserable memory of what happens when you couldn’t cheat anymore.
These women that had fought with their earnest prowess were warriors. And that girl was going to learn that she was nothing in comparison to them. Whilst her friends would be useless to help –at least he wasn’t sure if there were others but he was keeping an eye on things now. Maybe he should have brought along the two hellhounds for good measure, he did have a liking towards them.
The final round had begun at least and it was no surprise to him that the crowd was cheering on the orc woman with gusto and screaming fury. He found it actually perfect, unable to keep the grin entirely from his face but vision tilted quickly at the approach when that of the mountain princess came leaning into him. Grinning as she was and swiftly finding his grasp lightly cradling cheeks. Mouth parting to say something but ultimately deciding that he would wait at least half a second. Having no issue bending down in a perch to indicate that she didn’t have to leap on him this time to hitch a ride but he was offering. At least for a few minutes that she could sap some of his natural healing from him and be close.
If and when she finally joined him for an unprompted piggyback, he lead them a little away. Not far enough to miss the final round, but far enough that others shouldn’t be interested in listening to them. Not without some obvious signs that they were. “Yah should’ve just plastered that bitch twelve feet under and shit on her grave.” He wasn’t clearly very happy, “Cheatin’ cunt.”
That soft grasp of his hands to her cheeks was certainly something, causing a wince and a curious expression of her own about that look of his, but she was sailing on her high of good cheer to think twice about it. Fuel more still by the heavy sounds of someone getting the absolute shit punched out of them, and by the singing praise of the crowd it was ole Bonnie Bitchtits Cleghorn getting her just desserts.
He bent down and it took no thinking at all to drape herself over his shoulders into a melt of almost limp limbs, wrapping her arms loosely and tucking her chin where it was comfortable. Everything fucking hurt, considering it took her far too long to realize the force she was hitting Bonnie with was only being redirected back at herself through bullshit enchantments. It’d fade soon enough and she’d be fine, so she didn’t worry too much about it.
Giving a weak laugh into his ear, as his own words basically spoke for all of the Hog Wolly at this point. Clearly getting his wishes come true as another loud crack and the boisterous laugh of Ura O’foruk was fast behind it.
“And risk spending my night in some ruffly skirt? Not a chance.” she murmured first with deep amusement. Taking a breath no sooner after, something slow and a little jagged but otherwise seeming to just appreciate the calm of hanging there on him and letting the close contact sooth her frayed thoughts and aching limbs.
“Can’t risk too much magic out here anyway. The fear runs generations deep and twats like her is a good example why. A warrior orc is the hero today and they’ll all be happier for it.”
How she melded into him was surely enough of a telling that she had certainly taken a beating. Add on that even his encouragement that she should have just absolutely destroyed that cocky twat because she didn’t want to risk spending a night in the ruffly skirt, Arc didn’t resist the low broiling and thick growling in his throat. “I wouldn’t have counted any of this against yah for the wager. It would have been entirely justifiable.” It seemed he was more pissed off than she was and that probably said a whole lot of something.
Even if she pointed out how magic in these parts weren’t particularly favoured. Even if the orc herself was going to properly dominate the sow, it didn’t alleviate his frustration. “Yer clever, yah could have figured out a way to reveal that she was usin’ magic. But,” Even amongst it all, he did understand why Calia didn’t. Allowing his gaze to veer over to where the two had been and noticed they had conveniently slipped deeper into the crowd while their lady was busy being turned into a pretzel. No honour, was damn straight about them. “They won’t be usin’ it anymore for a while anyways. That part I made sure of,”
That unnatural growling was still happening before he cleared his throat to make it cease. Taking in a breath and, “Yah won this round regardless, there ain’t no reason for me to go and try to best this one. I already fought the other two and well…” Arc admitted knowing that technically it was a fight and he had come out the victor. “Yah can just have the wager, I’ll wear the damn stupid skirt. Yer in no condition now to do much of anythin’ besides gettin’ hammered at the tavern.”
The man was incredibly pissed, to which she had been too, rightfully so! This entire festival of foolishness had clearly been designed as a way for all of the clans to come together and work out relationships in a peaceful and constructive way. To play games, get out aggressions, drink together and make connections. People like Bonnie Cleghorn not only spitting on the spirit of things by being an absolute bitch, but misusing magic to cheat and beat people was more than just dishonorable, it was actively working against the best interests and peace amongst the clans.
While she would’ve prefered that he wasn’t growling with rage, the rumbling had felt nice. She definitely could’ve used a little more rumbling!
“I knew you would take care of what I couldn’t see,” she stated proudly, giving him a light squeeze. Still savoring those victorious feelings regardless of how she’d physically ended up, and that no one out there was singing her praises. Better yet, it was a problem managed without Calia somehow buggaring it all to something massively out of proportion. Creating a cascade of unintended consequences with people getting hurt who shouldn’t have. It stayed simple, intentional. Doing something good and letting her disappear into the background.
“No tug rope?” she lamented, genuinely dismayed at the suggestion at all. She’d actually been looking forward to that! “Warding off the Cleghorn dickbags is more than enough for our second challenge. I’m fine, bug, just give me an hour or two and maybe a lambshank. We can still play our game and see who is wearing what skirt.”
It wasn’t soothing. It wasn’t calming. Apparently it was his turn to be so emblazed by what happened that even after all was said and done and the just desserts was being paid out to the bonny bitch; he was still fuming.
He knew Calia was competent. She showed that time and time again but the fact she had been used along how many other honourable women, as mere playthings by actions that were influenced by magic. Well… he was insulted. Furious! Quietly creating ideas inside his head about how he was going to place the fear of god and magic alike on the three… even if it wasn’t necessary!
Her soft squeeze didn’t placate him but he did hush enough that he was listening to her. Even pointing out that she had won the wager because everything that just happened, was too much. She could revel in her unlikely win and he would honour it. Now it was just lingering to make sure the raging Cleghorn wench had gotten her fair beatings and by the sounds of the crowd, it was going very well.
Tilting a little his gaze back to her as she expressed a sort of dismay at no tug rope. “Yah already won, yah ain’t needin’ to do more than that. It’s not really up for discussion less yah want me to start gettin’ truly surly. I’m already pissed off and resistin’ every urge there is to do somethin’ gloriously fuckin’ stupid as a sort of retribution.” Eyes peered forward once more, “Yah just tell me when yah want to wander back to the tavern to make sure yer seein’ doubles.”
Well, this was a curious turn of things, leaving her quiet for a moment looking over his surly expression and trying to figure out what she missed. Especially considering he was willing to just accept his fate of being dressed up like a kilted warrior without even getting a fair shot himself to show off in the games! Calia wasn’t even that injured and had certainly been through a hell of a lot worse in recent weeks, so it’s not as if she actually needed to cancel their whole wager.
Although, she supposed it was the first time he’d actually seen her fight someone and go down. The few times he’d seen her face anything, she was the one still standing. Granted, she’d lost this one on purpose, it’s not as if she’d actually been defeated in the fight!
He was worried about her, the least she could do was let him fuss. He said it wasn’t up for discussion!
“Hmn, then you can be buying the drinks all night. You don’t need to go changing your clothes for nothing,” she acquiesced, readjusting so she could hold on a little tighter, just in case he did get roaring mad and decide a humiliating defeat wasn’t enough for the Cleghorn Clan.
And humiliating was exactly what Bonne Blaire Cleghorn received in that last fight! Oh, those muscles of hers were real and she knew how to swing a punch and side step a swipe, but her skill hadn’t been even half as good as most of those girls. Pitted up against Ura O’foruk, especially with the orc knowing she was a filthy cheat, she never stood a chance. That beating was a long time coming, drawn out for fun and sport, toying with the wicked bitch the way she’d treated everybody else in the fight. She got her nose blooded and broken, her ears boxed, her ribs cracked, and solid kick in the twat.
The match was won when Bonnie went sailing over the heads of the entire crowd and landed quite literally in a dung heap where she belonged. Never had there ever been a better Hog Wolly!
That was sign enough for Calia to give him another wide grin and a soft bunt of her head against his that it was time for a little merry-making and good drinking.
It wasn’t exactly clear to him why everything had perturbed him so badly. He was known to be a cheat in many circumstances and freely using his magic, but he had to surmise that this time, it wasn’t him. It was someone else dappling in things they clearly didn’t understand and a part of his mind was truly furious that Calia could have been severely hurt from it had she not the wits to figure out the cheating at all.
He didn’t do well with those he was loyal to being harmed and toyed with. But that felt like if he said it, it would have been made fun of by her anyways. So stayed behind prison bar lips and made it clear that the wager had been hers rightly won.
It wouldn’t do him very well either to be in a fight because well, that whole statement of knocking teeth out just might come true and then what? They’d be chased out or something and it wasn’t on the agenda. She earned her reward so he shuffled her gingerly up in that piggyback before a ring of azure was aimed slightly backwards. Hearing her suggest that the reward had been changed, “I think I was guna end up payin’ regardless,” Arc muttered with the truth of it all. He was the one that did pay for most of these events after all so her statement was pretty moot. “I might be pretty devious and underhanded generally but yah won and yah got what yah wanted. I ain’t about to shirk on it now,” He had a feeling that even if he did agree to her change of plans, it would be brought up time and time again as a sort of remember when you took the easy way out.
It was also not something he was interested in doing.
So it was settled. He lost and that was that.
Turning focus back to the last bit of viewing that was enjoying the proper defeat of the conniving bitch and helping add to the noise of cheers when she took a proper sailing trip into a pile of well placed shit. Grateful for it though he felt that was even too soft of a landing for her. Instead just hefting up the little victor as he turned when the crowd started to mill after the success of the orc woman, to head towards that of the tavern.
At least he got one free round for himself from Torren and he was going to collect on that certainly while making sure Calia was suitable drowned in all she wanted.
Calia very nearly opened her mouth to argue again! Just because she wanted to see him in it, didn’t mean he actually had to do it! Especially seeing as circumstances had changed and he didn’t feel like it’d be a fair challenge if she weren’t one hundred percent. It wasn’t fair to claim she won, either! In fact, all around it was more like a neat and tidy tie because he’d been a lot more impressive in that first challenge and could be he did something to aid her during the fights.
But he didn’t want to argue and Calia didn’t want to push it. Giving a small, calming sigh to leave it be as it was. In the end, with that tartan kilt he was going to get a great deal of lady’s attention so it wouldn’t be as awful as he was thinking, anyway. In fact, he’d probably be spoiled for choice and have several hours occupied trying to please the lot of them.
Good gods, she didn’t want to think about that.
They got to mingle in with the crowd who were carrying off Ura and chanting her name like she was their queen for the day, joined by couple orcish companions too – all also seeming to be women. Others in the crowd wandered off to spectate or take on other challenges in the Hog Wolly, for there was still plenty of the day left to enjoy and several more days yet of clan games.
Calia allowed him to carry her at least as far as the tavern before she was slipping off his back and sliding her ass into the first out of the way chair she could claim. As much as she would’ve loved to join the raucous celebrating, for at least the next hour or so she was going to be happily content not moving a single muscle and just enjoying the atmosphere.
Enjoying was the truth of it too, for it’d been a long time since she’d had such a good day. To play and just exist. And though he seemed to be simmering quietly, she gave him a little gentle nudge of that joy like a shoulder bump through the tether. Had it been a glance or something truly physical it might’ve even came off as flirty… hell, maybe it was flirty, for it didn’t hurt to smile and that was all she had to give at the moment. Soft smiles, gentle nudges, and one of those rare moments she wasn’t a blizzardy storm but a warm breeze.
There was a quiet appreciation that there wasn’t any arguing any further. Liable to give the crowd a whole new thing to gawk at because he would have died on this hill this time! Instead she seemingly accepted the fate and at the moment he didn’t tell her to materialize whatever sort of nonsense kilt she had in mind because like hell he knew. He was still convinced these men were bears in poor disguise.
What caused him a mild bit of amusement was seeing how Ura had been carried off as the victor –as it ought to be- and maybe he gave a little bit of a magic influence to the shit pile to make it extra slippery so Big Bertha Bitch had a hard time getting out of it. Not that he would ever admit to that.
Shit belonged with shit after all.
The tavern itself was plenty busy when they entered and she was sliding off before he was ready. Hastening a need to make sure she didn’t fall completely off before she was nudging at him. Influencing the tether to express her mood and he gave her a gentler look of a reply. Feeling how she was seemingly at a sort of peace in which he couldn’t be too mad at. Well not at her, just the whole circumstance but suppose justice had been served. “Yer guna have to buy the orc at least a drink on yer own dime.” He stated, putting a hand to the top of her head and lightly ruffling what was already a mess. “Now, yah scheme what sort of fucking horrid colours yer guna have me in, and I’ll see what sort of fiery drink will spice yer blood well enough that yah’ll be dancin’ on the bar top to every battlin’ eye in the place.”
Calia grimaced if only because she didn’t need him to make more a mess of her hair when it was surely coated in dried mud, dusty sand and even a little bit of blood that wasn’t just her own if she were honest. Only for the smallest second for he’d given her a sort of gentle look that meant he might’ve finally been coming down from that simmering of his so that was well worth a grin in return.
The second he left her to see about drinks she attempted to run her fingers through her hair to loosen it up and wrangle at least some of the mess. There wasn’t much she could do about it without magic or a bath so she at least just made sure it wasn’t full of tangles and leaves. Taking a moment too in giving the style of plaid she’d have him wearing, for despite what he seemed to think, Calia wasn’t aiming to make a fool of him. He’d genuinely be quite fetching in any of the high garb, minus those silly socks and the and hats, neither of which she planned on insisting on.
She gave a quick consideration of simply using her family’s colors – the Dalgaard tartan from the days of being part of the roaming clans. As much as the idea was pleasant, it wouldn’t suit Archimedes and truly it wouldn’t suit herself either. Something new then that was his alone, so it needed just the right colors, right patterns…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a hard thunk on the table next to her, with the orc of the hour taking up a seat and staring her down like she was on a mission. Calia stared back with some surprise, fully expecting Ura O’foruk to be well on her way of being admired and congratulated by scours of people so this was curious turn. After a beat Calia just smiled.
“Can I buy you a drink? You most certainly deserve it,” she offered.
“No. Something else.” That statement was quick and bluntly said at that, leaving Calia looking wide-eyed and giving a gesture of her shoulder for the orc to ask away. “You are princess? Not of the clans, one of kingdom?”
That drew a small cringe from her and a wry sort of shrug of both shoulders this time. “I am, but it’s a little complicated-“
“What complications?” Ura blurted out, catching Calia off guard, yet she was catching on quickly that this orc had something very serious on the mind and it prompted Calia to straight up in her seat and turn towards the woman to answer proper.
“I am a Princess of Caeldalmor, and as of the moment I left it with many refugees it was besieged by demons. The who and how is known, the whys not so much. With that in mind, is there something other than a drink I can do for you?”
“Is that who the Blood Queen Heirra?” Ura asked then.
Calia actually had to pause there and consider it. Honestly, she never believed that asshole Derrick had the brains and fortitude to pull of something such a large scale. Yet, she didn’t really have any sort of belief that this queen of the Imperial Kingdoms had a hand. Aside from now knowing she’d sent her Huntsman and her Mercenary after Calia’s sister, and now the Huntsman had turned sides.
“I don’t know. There is a chance.” she answered to the best of her knowledge.
Ura nodded solemnly, but this detail helped fueled her own eagerness to speak.
“That Cleghorn woman – she wore bracers of dark magic. The sort I have seen in the Imperial Lands used against my clan, against orc blood. The treacherous cow’s taint has cheated all events but these mountain people, they don’t see magic. They won’t acknowledge or believe. Until you-” she pointed at Calia quite passionately. “I watched as you studied her. Went toe to toe, not just of skill, something else. You are not like the others. An orc knows.”
By the way Ura tapped her nose, Calia wasn’t she if she meant knows but rather nose, as in smelling she was not mortal but something else entirely. Opening her mouth to say something about it only for Ura to pause her and continue.
“You could have won that fight, yet gave the gift to Ura. Only a warrior of great heart-” Calia might’ve laughed at that! “-deems to right a wrong instead of claim a glory. I ask, sister to orcs, will you help right another wrong?”
Maybe Calia had not done a simple thing without consequences after all, as here she was with this dead earnest orc warrior now seeking her out for a favor she wasn’t even sure she could make good on. She didn’t hide her doubts in her expression or try to put on the airs of being some know it all princess – for fucks sake, what did she know about anything like this at all? If she was about to be asked to assassinate a queen – well, technically she could and might do it out of pure spite, but that wasn’t something to go proclaiming, was it!
“You give me way too credit than I actually deserve, and I am not sure I can be of any use to you at all… but I guess I am willing enough to listen and see?”
Ura laughed, full bodied and amused, reaching out to grasp Calia’s shoulder with a firm slap and shake, enough that Calia winced as damnit all, she was still hurting just about everywhere!
“Orcs are refugees out of the Imperial Lands, for we are hunted there. These clans are not organized, strong but scattered. I seek land to raise an orc army, to send for my husband and save my son. If your kingdom is besieged by demons, then it will become a training ground for orcs to grow strong. Give us room to live and grow, and we shall give our blood to protect those lands.”
Calia found herself stunned to silence for a long moment. She’d wanted to seek aid for her home, but never in a million years did she think she’d stumble into something so fortuitous just because she got the shit kicked out of herself by a cheating twat!
“I… guess that depends on how well you get along with elves and a few other curious things…” she answered, quickly glancing over her shoulder much like a deer caught in the light. Searching for the one person who was far better equipped at this sort of business than she was!
There was a sort of second glance back over his shoulder to find his place had been quickly slipped into and not by someone he expected so soon but hardly about to start bitching about. For the orc had clearly some sort of agenda with Calia. Enough that he wasn’t about to be terribly that interested in sweeping back prematurely, then the warrior hens talk about whatever it was that those who liked feeling bone crunch under fist, talk about.
He had been on his own mission which was in fact finding probably the strongest drink possible that wasn’t whatever the shit Calia had given him ages ago now when his memory returned. Anything was better than that and she deserved something good. For the whole fiasco that could have been a proper explosion, hadn’t become one. From her or him. Which in the course of things, one had better consider a good thing!
Just as he was leaning an elbow against the bar ready to find the drink of victors, the clap landed heavily on his shoulder. Not unfriendly but it had no gentleness behind it either. The kind of impact that was probably akin to a friendly avalanche deciding not to bury you simply out of good humour! Arc turned his head slightly, azure eyes flicking sideways, and found himself looking up into a beard that might have once been a forest before someone had decided to live in it.
The same broad ass man that he had angered earlier and now was splitting his face into a grin that was wide enough to suggest he had never once in his life apologized for laughing too loud. “Torren Kaldbrann,” the man announced with more of a intent this time in case he had forgotten who he was. He thumped Arc’s shoulder again, less a blow now and more a punctuation. “Arc was it? Didn’t think you’d keep your feet after our little event but I also didn’t think you’d keep that smile either.”
Arc let the corner of his mouth lift, small and sharp as a blade deciding whether to show itself. “I didn’t realize I’d been graded,” he replied mildly, voice smooth enough to slip through the tavern’s roar without being swallowed by it. “Should I expect a certificate? Perhaps a commemorative carvin’. Something tasteful. Pine, maybe.”
Torren barked a laugh that seemed to start in his boots and shake its way up. A couple of men behind him—equally built of stone and stubbornness—leaned in with the easy familiarity of those who had long ago decided that proximity counted as conversation. One had a nose that had clearly lost more fights than it had won; another wore braids threaded with bits of antler and copper. Mountain folk, all of them. The kind who treated broken bones like weather and scars like jewellery. “You did very well,” Torren said again, and this time there was something earnest beneath the thunder. “Not just for an elf. For anyone. Log spun mean today. That mud wanted blood. You didn’t give it, at least,” Eyes moved to clearly assess his state of attire that was caked dirt now, “You hadn’t.”
Arc dipped his head just enough to acknowledge it, the gesture graceful without being servile. “High praise,” he said. “Though I suspect the mud pile is merely biding its time. It has an excellent memory and a poor sense of humour.”
That earned him another rumble of approval. Torren’s grin softened at the edges, turning from spectacle into something warmer. “You’ve a tongue on you too,” he said. “Quick one, that’s a dangerous combination. Balance like a cat and a mouth that can dodge a punch before it’s thrown.” He jerked his chin toward the chaos of the room behind them. “We’re running a few more events later. Proper ones. None of that festival dancing. Hog Wolly’s got games that teach you what a real man feels like. Bone and bruise. Sweat that smells like iron. You should join, lad. Shed some of that elven grace. See what you’re made of when it ain’t pretty.”
The invitation hung between them, loud even in the noise. Not a challenge, not quite. Instead it was the kind of offering men made when they respected you enough to want to break bread—or noses—with you. Arc let his gaze wander past Torren’s shoulder briefly, eyes skimming the sea of bodies and torchlight. He caught a glimpse of green skin and sloe hair somewhere deeper in the room, the tilt of a broad silhouette angled toward a smaller one. Calia. The orc. An orbit already tightening.
He exhaled through his nose, quiet. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Arc said, and there was no mockery in it. Only an easy certainty, like someone refusing a second glass of wine because he already knew how the night would end. “I’ve already proven today that I can fall with style. I’d hate to ruin the illusion by doing it repeatedly. But I will still take that promised drink as a commemorative offerin’.”
Torren studied him for a heartbeat, mountain-bright eyes narrowing just slightly as if weighing the shape of the refusal. Then he nodded, once, decisive and clean. No offense taken. Just understanding, the way stone understood wind. “Fair,” he said simply. “A man knows when his road bends another way.” The grin crept back, slow and wolfish. Making a motion at the tender that he was paying for the drink the elf got, but continued speaking. “But if you change your mind, you come find me. Kaldbrann clan don’t forget faces that stand on spinning wood and don’t cry for their mothers.” He leaned in a fraction, lowering his voice conspiratorially despite the fact that subtlety did not suit him. “And I’ve a few maids back at the roost that would like the sight of you. Elven man that can handle mountain games? That’s a story they’d chew on for years.”
Arc huffed a soft laugh at that, genuine despite himself. “I’ll try not to disappoint an entire demographic,” he murmured. “The pressure would be unbearable.”
Torren clapped him once more—lighter this time, almost companionable—before turning, already swept back into the current of his people. The others followed, their conversation dissolving quickly into the comfortable brutality of men who liked talking about the weight of fists and the sound bones made when introduced to reality too quickly. Their laughter receded in waves, leaving Arc alone again at the bar with the hum of the Hog Wolly settling back into his bones.
He shifted his stance slightly, fingers tapping once against the wood as he glanced over his shoulder. Assessing once more before there were two hefty tankards plopped down and shortly scooped up by himself. Easily enough whisking back to the table Calia had claimed, so he might interject himself into the gabbing with a thud of drink before the princess. “I ain’t gotta clue what it is, what’s in it and that’s half the fun, petal.” Arc chuckled, slinking around the backside of Calia’s chair to help himself into another.
Flopping into it more like it as he offered the orc a deep respectful bobble of his head. “If I were a bolder man, I’d ask to kiss yer knuckles, Chieftain for a mere taste of that gutless cunt’s blood.” He pulled his own drink closer but didn’t sip at it, “I hope I’m not interruptin’ too much, but I am a nosy little gossip on the best of days.”
The second he sat down the relief flooded in, along with a small amount of embarrassment that she’d even been unnerved at all. A princess ought to have her shit more put together, and worse than that Calia had been through enough that suddenly being asked for such a big thing shouldn’t have shaken her down to her core.
She knew what her answer was the second it was asked. It was simple the fact her word, her actions had this kind of weight. It meant something and it scared the hell out of Calia.
“The elf or the something curious?” asked Ura, gesturing toward Archimedes with a half-cocked smile.
“The curious,” affirmed Calia, immediately reaching for the drink and taking a deep swallow just to steady herself. It was good and strong, exactly what she needed. “The elf would be Queen Ashera of Edelguard.”
Ura leaned back in her chair looking quite impressed, and Calia was realizing in that second that she was in fact Chief Ura O’foruk. There was no difference between a Chief and Queen aside from the land, which really did add such an immense amount of extra pressure to it all. Did it change her mind? No. It did make her headache a little worse.
“Ura is seeking refuge for her people away from the Imperial Lands,” she explained to catch him up to speed, “they will help remove the demons from Caeldalmor for a place they’re allowed to live in peace. I am going to accept, because fuck Heirra and whatever the hell her bullshit is and because Edelguard is already giving enough by taking in my own people.”
Ura brightened immediately to hear this, only grinning wide with contained mirth when Calia continued.
“…only that is about as far as I know what to do for making royal deals. I don’t know what is left there, I don’t know what is needed. And I am on a quest of my own, so I cannot lead anyone there.”
She was going to say she can’t lead anyone at all, but that wasn’t going to fill anyone with confidence. Instead she was giving a sort of glance to Archimedes that likely bordered on being pathetic. If there was any time she needed an actual advisor, this was one of them.
He didn’t know what was going on but usually Calia was the confident sort that had no trouble with most situations. And yet, there was an ebbing of uncertainty that he couldn’t be sure was his or hers. Just he didn’t stare at her long enough to discern which one it was, merely slipping into the way of his own words that were utterly familiar and absolutely unbothered. Speaking easily that he would earnestly kiss that of Ura’s knuckles because she had beaten the snot out of that Cragland twat.
In turn, he took his brew proper and sampled it at a healthy drag. Only for false azure to widen subtly at the elf or something curious. He was both and neither of course and when Calia affirmed well, it was kinda a whim moment. “More of an astra, but still a somethin’ curious.” Honestly, he had no idea what that was but labeling himself as neither elf or demon but something created then and there felt unusually right.
The drink was taken to half quickly. Set down and scooted slightly with a push of finger so when Calia spoke about catching him up, his brows lifted a little. Not much but still telling to show his earnest interest. Shortly turning into a wicked grin as chin found his palm. “I’ve heard it said before that orcs were the true demons of the mortal realm, now I find myself terribly curious the matter of clashin’ tusk against horn.” Implying he would want to see an orc and a demon clatter against another in a battle of succession. And honestly, he’d throw his money on the orcs.
Still, hearing Calia express she was going to accept meant Ura knew the truth about Calia. That she was Caeldalmor’s bloodline and at least one of the few living royals. “Well, Ashera also has a strong and well deserved loathin’ of Queen Hairy tit so, I don’t think addin’ someone of proper skull crushin’ caliber to that roster is terrible. Rather necessary,” He found the way Ura blooming into a tusk grin to be a fine reward.
Ready to already make his free drink disappear, even reaching for it again but stopped mid way because there was a pair of bright verdant rings aimed at him. In such a way that he was pretty sure a puppy in the rain would have melted over. She was silently asking for help. To lean on his knowledge and Arc gave her a slow look that was probably more calculating that it ever usually was.
Giving up the drink so he might cross his arms over the broad of chest. Glancing at the ceiling and eventually straightening once more. Reaching under the table to give Calia’s knee a gentle patting as if to say I got this, before the hand rested loosely over his knee. The other draping up and over with idle elegance to the back of her chair, acting as an anchor.
Lifting his gaze to Ura as something telling shifted in him. It wasn’t cold or sharp, just older. The languid ease he wore like a second skin remained, but beneath it there was suddenly structure—like silk pulled taut over steel. When Arc spoke, his voice was still low and smooth, but the cadence had changed. Deliberate. Measured. A man who knew exactly how far a single word could travel once spoken aloud. “Then let’s treat this like what it is,” Starting gently. “This isn’t a favour or desperation. But it’s a very new beginnin’.”
He did not rush the next breath. He let it exist, let the air carry the weight of intent rather than urgency. Azure eyes rested on Ura, attentive and unthreatening, yet impossible to mistake for careless. “Yer askin’ for refuge,” Arc continued, tone fluid as riverwater over stone. “But refuge means different thin’s dependin’ on who is askin’ and who is grantin’ it.” A faint tilt of his head followed, curiosity rather than challenge. “So we start with clarity.”
Fingers tapped lightly once against his knee—an old habit, the ghost of council chambers and long nights of strategy. “What do yer people need to survive the first year? I don’t mean thrivin’ as clearly there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. So I mean surivin’. Land for shelter is obvious. But food? Livestock? Seed stores? Are they farmers, hunters, artisans? If winter comes early, do they endure it—or do they break?”
Arc’s gaze did not waiver, but his expression stayed warm, open in a way that made the questions feel like scaffolding rather than scrutiny. “And who among them leads when you cannot?” Added in softly. “Because peace isn’t built on one voice. It’s built on the shape of the silence when that voice is gone.” He shifted slightly, just enough that the line of his body remained aligned with Calia’s. It was subtle, but intentional—the posture of someone making it clear that he spoke with her authority without ever needing to claim it aloud.
“If they settle in Caeldalmor,” Continuing on, “They’ll become part of somethin’ that isn’t ready to heal. It also means they’ll inherit not just sanctuary… but unfinished wars. And those wars are guna be some of the most bloodiest thin’s yah likely will ever see.” There was no fear in his voice just truth. “Also yah said demons,” Arc said quietly, letting the word settle without dramatics. “So tell me this plainly—what can yer people actually do about them?” His brows lifted a fraction, not in doubt but invitation. “Are they fighters? Wardens? Mages? Do they know how to hold ground once it’s taken, or only how to help reclaim it?”
A small pause followed, and when he spoke again, the edges of his tone softened—not less intelligent, just more human. “I’m not askin’ so we can measure yer worth,” He said. “I’m askin’ because promises built on hope alone tend to collapse the moment somethin’ screams in the dark.”
His gaze dipped briefly, thoughtful, then returned to her. “And what are yah willin’ to bind yerself to in return?” Arc asked, voice gentler still. “Not what yah feel grateful for. What yah can swear to.” A faint, knowing curve touched his mouth. “Gratitude fades. Oaths, if spoken correctly, do not.” Arc leaned back a fraction, relaxed again, though the gravity remained. “Would yer people serve as wardens of what they help reclaim?” He continued, conversational now, as though mapping possibilities instead of cornering answers. “Guard the borders they bleed for? Share knowledge? Trade craft? Loyalty can take many shapes. The important thin’ is choosin’ one that survives the years after this moment stops feelin’ urgent.”
Arc let the quiet stretch just long enough to be respectful, not oppressive. He was not filling the space—he was holding it open.
Then, softer: “And one more thin’,” he said. “If peace is what you want, we need to know what peace costs yah.” His expression didn’t harden, but it grew more intent, more searching in that deeply perceptive way he carried when something mattered. “What do you leave behind by comin’ here? Enemies? Old allegiances? Names that will follow yah even if you bury them? Because whatever follows yah,” Arc murmured, “Will eventually knock on our door too.”
He fell quiet after that, not pressing, not crowding the moment with more brilliance than it needed. The intelligence in him did not demand attention—it simply lingered, steady and patient, like a candle that had no intention of going out. Then he spoke, “I would suggest to think about everythin’ I said carefully Chieftain. We both know this is not somethin’ one makes a quick decision about and if yah did, I’d be quick to advise Lia here not to take the deal.” His brows lifted, “Take the time to think about it and we will do the same. We’ve gotta be on equal footin’ and understandin’ to ensure this all works in both of our favours.”
Broad shoulders shifted slightly, “Drink Chieftain. Make merry, rub elbows with the others here and let yer clan present feel the mood and brevity. Then when we are all sufferin’ from a proper hang over in the mornin’, we can discuss.” Only then he leaned forward with a earnest grin, “Archimedes by the way. Just so yah have a name to curse to yer fellow huntress about givin’ yah homework.”
There was something spectacular in watching Archimedes do the things he was especially good at. Naturally, his weaving of magic was her favorite as she was born and bred of it. This, though? To have so much foresight and vision about what the future could look like? Pulling it out of the ether like it was easy to know the right path forward. Of course he’d been trained for such things – to be a future king’s advisor, so it wasn’t as if he was just grasping at ideas on a whim. Calia had even been taught the basics of economics and thing things a proper royal should know… she just… well. Got overwhelmed might’ve been the best description.
Even as he spoke and detailed out the potential to Ura, Calia was trying to answer the very questions he asked
To survive in the first year? Ura’s clan would need to settle somewhere with access to clean water and good shelter. Best done the way her ancestors did it, by using the mountain caves themselves as a natural shield from the elements and Calia could think of a few locations that could be a good start. Food would have to be done through hunting and foraging until they could gather and breed enough livestock and begin a farming season. Thus cave system, steam or lake, and a thick forest full of good hunting opportunities.
Who did the leading… she could not answer that one on Ura’s behalf. Damn it all, Calia could not answer it even on her own. If two of her elder siblings were alive, then good! That meant the crown of Caeldalmor was no longer on her shoulders! Yet if Araminta was trapped in the Imperial Kingdoms and Haaron was lost as sea, that still left Calia with the responsibility to do something.
Arc shifted next to her, just enough that it caught her attention, and somehow that ease a little of her tension. She’d been doing something, hadn’t she. Negotiated with Ashera, came here to the mountains to seek out clans that were former allies. A deal now with an orc clan would be a valuable something. Even as Archimedes asked the orc chieftain what they would bring to the table, listing off all the possibilities of warriors and wardens and oaths, trade and knowledge, Calia could imagine some opportunities herself. Reopening the collapsed mountain pass to the east, renewing that abandoned trade post so the mountains would be alive with travel between all the kingdoms again.
Chief Ura O’foruk could see these possibilities too, blossoming into the broadest of smiles, keen with her own intelligence and personal ambitions.
“Smart, this one is. For a man.” she stated.
Calia brightened immediately into that fox-wild grin. “Isn’t he? I found him in a dungeon.”
Ura erupted into a boisterous laugh, loud and deep. Already full of that merry-making and brevity he suggested. She rapt her knuckles hard on the table, leaning in with that cunning grin.
“I will share this with my brethren, and we will meet come morning.” On that final she rose, throwing her arms up in the air and giving a joyous shout to the whole bar drinks for all! before leaving them to the privacy of their own company.
Calia let out a slow breath, resting her head against the arm that was still draped on the back of her chair.
“…feel like I ought to thank Bonnie Cleghorn for being such a bitch.”
Once it was clear he wasn’t about to be combated with his whole spiel of everything, he finally drained the rest of drink. Pleased with the warmth from it and the fact it had been paid for, the way the chief broke into a unhindered smile only affirmed that she had been pleased by all this. Thinking likely already of her own answers that could define the questions into clear cut definitions.
This sort of thing, he knew how to do. Obviously very well but he never liked it. Still didn’t, but he made the exception because Calia had soundlessly pleaded with him to step in. Honestly, he should have made a list of how many times she could do so because he just retired from it officially. Even if… he probably never would have so long as she asked him to step in.
At least she asked in her own way.
Nonchalantly he gave a lazy sort of shrug at Ura claiming he was smart, you know… for a man. Before Calia applied both a compliment and suggested she found him like a stray. “Which time?” He asked to lean verbally into the whole ploy that he might have been in a dungeon for a few unspoken reasons. Letting that be a tale without an answer.
The orc woman rose, her laughter rewarding all in itself and he gave a accepting now when her knuckles rapped upon the tabletop. “I’m sure yah’ll find us easily. One of us will likely be in a local horse trough. Ass up or not is yet to be decided.” He left her to stew with that however she wanted before the bar broke into joy at a round for the bar. Pleased he was for that himself as the mountain stone princess herself was leaning into his arm.
Instantly making his face wrinkle, “She clobbered the shit outta yer head, didn’t she. Fuck that twat,” He gave a snort infused with less air and more animalistic grunting. Quickly huffing to relieve himself of the annoyance. Allowing false gaze to fall on her once more, “I think Imma have to start findin’ a rate when I gotta start doin’ advisory stuff.” Again his nose wrinkled up, “Gives me heartburn every time. Guna develop a tick as a sort of response to havin’ to be any sort of intelligence or diplomatic. Goes against everythin’ I am, y’know. How am I to maintain my level of uncooperative shit lord if I gotta show I have more than two brain cells on a good day. Sounds like a vast problem, cuts into my sleazy crap bag motif.”
“That enchantment of hers was a reflection of my own strength, so I suppose technically I clobbered the shit out of myself,” Calia mused, tilting her head just enough to grin at him. Finding it easy to have humor over it now that not only the bracers she’d been wearing were corroded and incapable of being reenchanted, Arc had dealt with her mage friends who’d hopefully think twice about such malicious use of magic.
As for the rest, his general fussing about doing one of the things he was actually quite good at, there was only fond amusement in the way she watched him. Maybe Calia really had her brains scrambled! Or rather, the more simple answer was as she always said… her lows were devastating, but her highs were just as strong. And right then her contentment was a pleasant balm, drifting over everything like the delicate snowflakes of an evening night.
“You set a good foundation for me. I’ll be able to handle it tomorrow with a clear plan. Or at the very least one that has good potential. In fact you did so good, you’ve more than earned the chance to go meeting up with all of those skirts you’ve been chasing today. Make yourself the one ass up in a trough! I’ll be more comfortable in a tree!”
“Poor baby,” He crooned softly with a slight implication of jesting and earnest consideration. Granted, from how hard Calia threw those punches, well she probably did clobber the shit out of herself. Something to be aware of in case she accidentally did more damage than she intended to. Earning a gentle smoothing of thumb between her brows in his very much honest sort of concern.
It was only small moments like this that healing magic would be useful but they already knew that was something he lost and well, a demon using healing magic sounded akin to just lighting himself on fire.
As he complained about the whole ruining show of being actually capable of something productive whilst showing that he was actually well enough trained to be an advisor to some leader; she was giving him a look that warranted a half cocked brow. A silent what that never verbally came.
Probably because she said he set a good foundation and got a lazy shrug for it. “We’ll see about that, my work is shoddy at best. Goes with my territory as a very specific imp. I’ll sell yah yer own grandmother for a grand and make it seem like a good deal at first.” Of course she continued and stated that since he did such a good job, that his reward was to actually be able to go off without any further concern.
Making those eyes glitter and well, he wasn’t about to turn down the chance anyways. “Sleep in a room, yah gobshite. Yah need some comfy beddin’ that isn’t shared with a smelly imp and two blanket hoggin’ cats.” Arc slipped in to peck her temple with a fond kiss even as his body was rising out of the chair. Simultaneously managing to materialize a small bag of coins to dump in front of her. “Drink yerself stupid at least, bunny. Yah need to be pickled and find someone to wrestle yah the fun way.” His feet were under him, squeezing her shoulders as the whole of him absolutely slipped away to slink himself into some sort of gaggle of bodies.
Effortlessly cozying up to a tall woman with sallow blond hair and clearly was already dripping in the saccharine comments that had him winding arm about and she in return.
If she could get a few more of those soft touches, Calia really would’ve preferred he stayed. He as the imp and two cushion cats was actually her favored way of sleeping now, why would she want some paltry tavern bed with thin sheets and vacant space?
But oh how quickly he lept at the chance to escape and find himself the arms of a giggling gentle miss. He may as well have left behind a silhouette of dust behind. That sharp pang of disappointment hit immediately, leaving her to turn it around in her mind with careful consideration. Her jealousy was something she recognized now, a little of her not being the right kind of girl on one side, while the other side wishing she still had the desire to go chasing handsome faces.
And as she watched him flirt with that lovely golden haired dame with an easiness that he never really had around herself, Calia decided that she liked this best for him. If he were happy, then Calia had no complaints. It meant that even if she herself wasn’t a safe person, she was at least leaving plenty of room for him to be able to find it.
For awhile she kept an eye on him from a distance, until she’d lost track and focused more on the revelry around her. The energy was infectious – even someone in a rotten mood would have to choice but to perk up! So Calia riding that high of her good day joyous laughed at bawdy bad jokes, drink way way too much ale, clapped along when someone sang and dance on a table. Hells, she would’ve been up and dancing herself if she’d not been so physically wrecked. Instead she spent most of her evening sitting in a comfortable space swapping stories, sharing drinks, and learning a lot more about the mountain clans than she ever had with her stuff noble professors.
When she was done – not drunk she couldn’t get herself up, but far too drink to have a proper conservation – Calia bid her goodbyes. Not even bothering to see if a room anywhere was available, there surely wouldn’t be. Not unless she wanted to spend her evening on the lap of some highlander, but every time that thought almost was a consideration, she couldn’t help but imagining the potential of Archimedes being in the next room over. Absolutely not.
So out the tavern and to the trees she would be going. Although, she did linger several minutes too long by the horse troughs laughing herself to near tears at the thought of throwing herself in one and letting someone find her there in the morning.
It had been a while since the whole bar scene didn’t blow up in some spectacular feud that had either the place on fire. Him and Calia fighting and so forth. Not even sure he could accurately recall on one finger the last time that it went well and the mood was joyous.
Well he could absolutely say that while he wasn’t unconvinced the menfolk weren’t bears in disguise, they did in fact know how to throw a uproarious party. The tavern dripping with shouting voices and music, with the drinks heavily flowing that honestly he wasn’t sure who the hell was paying anymore. The theme was another round! And cheering coming along to declare whomever yelled that was now the king among men.
With the drinks coming that readily, it meant people were drunk quickly and well, he certainly made use of that! Slipping from soul to soul with no pause to dilute the whole scheme of sweet flirty phrases and gestures of nonsense because well, he wasn’t here to find love! He was prowling for interest which meant being as dramatic as he damn well wanted to be! And Arc, ever the opportunist of chaos, thrived in that sort of storm.
There was something about loud rooms and loose inhibitions that made people forget themselves. Made them softer at the edges. Easy to read and even easier to play. And Arc had always been very, very good at reading people — the tilt of a chin, the way laughter lingered a second too long, the flicker of eyes that said yes even when lips didn’t dare.
He drifted through the crowd like a ribbon of smoke, untethered and impossible to pin down. A shoulder here. Fingers brushing against wrists just long enough to spark curiosity but never long enough to demand anything. He spoke in nonsense and honeyed riddles, in compliments that sounded like poetry if you were drunk enough and mockery if you weren’t. A dangerous line, one he danced along with ease.
And they bit.
Not all of them — of course not. Some rolled their eyes, others laughed it off. Even one man accused him of trying to steal his boots, which, in fairness, he had complimented a little too sincerely. But enough of them lingered. Enough leaned in instead of away. Enough let their smiles bloom slow and warm, like flowers turning toward sunlight they weren’t quite sure they trusted.
And then there were the two.
It hadn’t been intentional, the good sort of accidents rarely was. He didn’t hunt in straight lines — he spiraled. But somewhere between the fifth mug he hadn’t paid for and a song that was more shouting than melody, the threads tangled in a way even he had to admire. The first was all bright laughter and sharper wit than the room deserved, the sort who didn’t melt under attention but sharpened against it. She parried his flirtations like a duelist, blade meeting blade, until the space between them hummed with the quiet understanding of someone who enjoyed the game rather than endured it. Absolutely he liked that, liked the way she didn’t blush easily. Liked even more when she finally did.
The second was softer in contrast, though not weaker — never that. She had a quiet kind of gravity, the sort that pulled people in without effort. Where the first sparked, the second smoldered. She listened when he spoke, really listened, head tipped just enough to make him feel like the only thing in the room worth noticing.
He should have picked one. A smarter man would have. A kinder one, maybe. It was unfortunate that he have never claimed to be either!
Somewhere along the way, the lines stopped mattering. A hand on his arm that lingered. A shared glance over the rim of a cup. A joke that looped the three of them together instead of apart. The moment when amusement shifted into something more conspiratorial — less strangers in a tavern and more co-conspirators in a secret only they seemed to understand.
And when he finally realized what had happened, truly realized it, Arc had the audacity to feel impressed with himself.
Arc leaned back against the table, grin curling slow and wicked as the realization settled into his bones. Two sets of eyes on him. Two smiles that didn’t look accidental anymore. Two hands that didn’t pull away when he let his fingers brush too close.
It had been a long time since a night had gone this well. And somewhere in the back of his mind — quiet, inconvenient, impossible to fully silence — was the faintest flicker of a thought that this was exactly the sort of thing that usually meant the universe was about to collect its due.
But for once, just once, Arc let himself ignore that.
Let the music swell, let the laughter roar! Let the moment stretch wide and reckless and bright. And gods help him, he decided he was going to enjoy every second of it. Allowing the night take him.