Harbringer — Roleplayer Guild

"Kam...nar..." Eltharion said, the harsh syllables causing him to struggle. Truly, the language of the orcs suited their strength. Elvish tended to be much...smoother and gentler on the tongue than most other languages, or at least out of the ones he heard. "It is a pleasure," he said as he slapped an open hand against his chest. It was an old tribal salute. One of the more war-like elf tribes, the original home of the forest thorns was within the broad plains of Althelara where they subjugated multiple, smaller elf tribes. This was, of course, before their unification centuries agobut the Athelarains kept to their martial traditions. This particular salute meant an open handed invitation and of bearing no ill will, the open hand bearing no weapon.

A few moments later, the cart suddenly shifted and creaked, causing the elf's head to snap around to his side. The bear creature had started to rise. Out of instincts, Eltharion grabbed his clawed arm and pulled downwards. "Standing now would not be the best action!" he shouted even as others started to shout, the Thunderhoof even standing up to prevent him by force if need be. As the beast tribesman settled down, Eltharion breathed a sigh of relief even as the coach driver shouted back to settle down, his voice loud, bellowing and guttural. The skytalon chuckled as he managed to stay lucid for a moment. "I know how he feels," he said as he tried to flap the vestigial nubs of his wings, "it is...different to be grounded for so long." There was a pang if incredible sadness in his voice as he seemed to sink deeper into his seat. Eltharion remained silent. He never was a very good commander in terms of morale. He was actually quite deficient in that aspect. He could only lead through valour. What was he meant to say in this situation? Slowly, he reached out his hand and placed a hand on the skytalon's shoulder. He said nothing. In return, the skytalon did his strange beaky smile before looking back into the ground.

Another outburst from the child on the bear's shoulder caused Eltharion to groan quietly and look around. This certainly was a dynamic pair. As the child turned its scornful gaze his way, Eltharion returned it twofold. He was not sure what he had done to draw his ire but any grudge against him, the elf would be happy to return. Its gaze shifted to the skytalon as he made an off-handed comment in jest. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat before he could voice them. Best not to antagonise the situation. The elf liked it when hearts were worn on their sleeves and simply hated it when he knew someone was hiding something. Before he could rescind his decision and complain, the bear tribesman spoke up. His voice was harsher even than the orc, similar to hearing the skytalon cough up his lungs but in an understandable sense. He proceeded to introduce himself and then ask the names of everyone else, especially someone to whom a...tree clinger clung...what in the seven gates of Fhanir was a tree clinger. Looking over in the direction his eyes pointed, Eltharion spotted the female canopy strider with a sloth dangling lazily off of her outstretched arm. The pieces then fit together.

There was an awkward silence as Garagog's question remained floating in the air. No-one wished to divulge their name first, heavens know why. Shrugging inwardly, Eltharion cleared his throat. "I am knows as Eltharion among our people, bearing the name in likeness of our great city," he said, bowing his head slightly in respect. There was not much else to say, although he expected at least a few mispronounciations. Thankfully, that seemed to break the silence as the skytalon next to him piped up. "I am Ktakar," he chirruped to break his melancholy. To Eltharion, that wasn't a name. That was a two syllable long noise. "I know our language is hard for you non skytalons to pronounce, so feel free to call me Kar," he continued. Inwardly, the elf breathed a sigh of relief. Looking expectantly at the Thunderhoof beside him, Eltharion raised an eyebrow, causing him to snort, steam shooting out of his nostrils. "My name is Hroth, do not overuse it," he said gruffly, his arms folded across his chest. Looking at the female elf, she seemed to be oddly enchanted by the sloth taking refuge on her arm. She seemed to be in her own little world. Canopy striders always were a bit odd in the head he thought as his eyes flicked to the other side of the cart. They focussed on the two dwarves who seemed to be engaged in their own conversation. His eyes hardened. Probably schemeing something. Like all their kind. That left the cowardly little human who seemed to be shrinking further into the shadows. No chance of a name there.

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While Kog MAY have wished for Griffith to stop...it was too bad that he was as thin-headed as she thought. He proceeded to regale her with all manner of mundane and extraordinary stories of his adventures, many of which seemed too fantastic to be true. Prinny meanwhile sighed and drew his legs up to his chest. He had already sat through too many of these stories...and this time Griffith wasn't even drunk. He didn't have an excuse. One thing was for sure. Griffith was pretty much every dwarven stereotype one could fit on a single dwarf. Hell, he even somehow brought out a flask hidden in his false arm and opened it, filling the cart with the foul stench of strong alcohol until he capped it again.Once again. Even if Kog was giving ANY indication to shut up, the dwarf ignored it in favour of that time he and his 371st cousin decimateded an entire Elvish regiment with a single trebuchet shot.

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After an approximate 10 minuted more of travel, the eerie silence of the early morning began to be replaced. The clatter of other carts could be heard, along with indistinct voices speaking in the human tongue, as well as common. The voices got louder as they continued along the road and could start to be distinguished. 

"Come take a look at these leeches! Guarenteed to cure anything from hangovers to the plague!"
"A pound of Amarfruit! Thirteen denarii!"
"Freshly baked bread here! Get it while its hot!"
"For the last time Steven! I'm not marrying a cat to see if we can make a new beast tribesman!"

Apart from the last one, all signs pointed to them travelling through some sort of haggling grounds. The cart-bound slaves looked uneasily at each other. It seemed they were nearing their destination. Soon, the voices grew indistinct again, replaced by the cheer of multiple voices and the occassional scream. Eltharion tried not to think about it as he flexed his fingers. With a sudden jolt, the cart stopped, causing the elf to press on the bench to maintain balance. The back of the cart opened up to reveal blinding sunlight. A moment later, it gave way to reveal a cobblestone paved road surrounded by tall stone buildings. The materials ranged from cheap sandstone to glorious marble and one could see a pattern if they looked into the distance. Emerging from beside the cart, the lanista hobbled out of the shadows and stood in the sun. "End of the road, my friends," he said, a lopsided grin on his face, "permanently for some of you.
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Death to Asgard!

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