Femi was just hanging around, the wind tugging at his fur. Since he had nothing better to do, he began reexamining some of the life choices he had made recently, his brown eyes narrowing as he replayed the events in his mind.
He wasn't quite sure why things had gone the way they had, but it didn't help that he was very hungry and itchy. The dried blood and dirt matted in his fur only made the irritation worse.
He really contemplated the meaning of life and why his enemies would want to see his end so much. The scent of the trees and damp snow filled the air, a contrast to the metallic tang of sweat and old wounds. Although this was also not the first time he had contemplated such profound thoughts, it was the first time he did so while being tied to a pole, a very long pole that stretched high above the bustling Krag camp.
The Ratling jerked around again, his tail flicking in agitation as he tried to get comfortable, as if that was possible. The rough fibers of the rope binding his wrists to the pole chafed against his skin, creating a constant, nagging discomfort.
With a sigh of frustration, Femi gave up and continued to contemplate. Down below, he noticed that ugly Krag sneering at him again while pausing instead of carrying on with his job. The Krag's tusks yellow and had holes, as he muttered something under his breath, his beady eyes locked onto Femi with undisguised contempt.
"Eh, my friend, look front! Is that all you can do? If you be man, climb up here and beat me! Nonsense!" Femi mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His whiskers twitched in amusement as the Krag's face darkened.
The Krag's sneering expression twisted further, his thick fingers curling into fists as if he actually wanted to climb up and break Femi's leg. But before he could act, a loud shout came from the other side of the camp.
"Back to lifting the crates!"
The voice was deep, authoritative. It was Goruk.
The blocky Krag, with his two-headed axe strapped to his back, marched toward Femi's pole. His heavy fired boots kicked up snow as he approached, his muscular frame would be casting a shadow over Femi if he wasn't so high up. Goruk's dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he gazed up at Femi.
"How's the view, Ratling?" he said with a small smirk on his face.
Femi exhaled dramatically, his breath forming a small cloud in the chilly air. "Shockingly beautiful. My burning lungs from the cold air is also wonderful," he replied back, his tone dry.
Goruk just grinned further, his jagged teeth on full display. "It seems you still have your tongue with you, even after being tied to the pole."
Femi couldn't help but sigh as he thought back to what started this nonsense.
----+----
It had all started two days ago.
Femi had managed to drag Varga back to the camp after trekking for what felt like an eternity, their bodies battered and their spirits worn thin. The dense forest had been unforgiving, every rustle in the underbrush had set Femi's nerves on edge, his ears twitching at the slightest sound. They had done their best to avoid predators.
Then, finally, Femi had seen the camp's lights flickering in the distance, torches mounted on rough wooden posts, their glow cutting through the nighs darkness. He had also spotted some of the Krags posted at the camp's edges, their hulking forms unmistakable even from a distance. It seemed they had noticed them too, because one of them, a particularly ugly brute with a crooked tusk had spoken in shock.
"What in Karggroth's name happened to you, Varga?" the Krag watcher asked as he took in their exhausted and ragged state.
Varga's clothes were torn and caked in blood, her arms bruised and streaked with dark, crusted wounds. Her leg was in even worse shape, a deep gash ran along her thigh, the bandages she had hastily wrapped around it now soaked through. Femi's own fur and clothing were no better; his new shirt was slashed in multiple places, and his usually sleek cloak was matted with dirt and dried blood.
"We'll be fine, thanks for asking," Femi had replied, his voice hoarse. "We were just unfortunate enough to have been abused by an armored bear, and then a bunch of goblins decided we looked like easy victims."
"Wasn't talking to you, Ratling," the Krag snapped, while scowling.
Femi gave the Krag an entirely unamused look back, his tail lashing once in irritation.
"We need to see the old man," Varga said, her voice weak. She was struggling to stand on her own, her muscles trembling with exhaustion.
"The boss has been looking for you," the ugly Krag sneered. "Said something about you missing an important meeting." He crossed his arms, his thick biceps bulging. "So, unless a threat to the camp is after you, you should go see him first." Then, with a deliberate glance at Femi, he added, "And keep your pet in line."
Femi had enough of this delay.
"I'm not in the mood for this 'I am beneath you' attitude," Femi snapped. "As you can see, both of us are half-dead. We've been running all day, and I don't have time for this. I'm heading back to camp to rest and find her a doctor or something. I'd appreciate you helping me carry her, because I can't feel my f— AHHH!"
The Krag had struck Femi in the face, sending him crashing to the snow. Pain exploded across his jaw, his vision swimming for a moment.
Varga immediately became alert, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as her body tensed for a fight. Even in her weakened state, she was dangerous.
"Tell your pet to know their place," the Krag spat. "They are just thralls."
"And what gave you the right to punish what's mine?" Varga growled, taking a step forward.
But Femi couldn't let that disrespect go.
"My friend, is that what your woman told you? Is that why you're angry this night?" Femi taunted as he pushed himself up, but sat on the ground to stabilize himself, while wiping blood from his mouth.
The Krag's eyes locked onto him, his gaze piercing. "What did you say?" he rumbled, his voice thick with menace.
Femi's voice was calm, but laced with defiance. "You heard what I said."
The Krag's stare intensified, his anger palpable. The air between them grew heavy, the other guards shifting uneasily.
"Look at you," Femi grinned. "I can see smoke coming from your head. You must be pissed off, or maybe you're just angry because what I said is true."
Slowly, Femi rose to his feet, his movements a little shaky. "Since you don't want to let us pass, let's discuss this," he suggested, his tone mockingly reasonable. "Maybe I can help you. You can tell me about your life history."
But before Femi could finish, the Krag lunged at him with a ferocity that seemed almost primal, his massive fist swinging in a brutal arc aimed at crushing Femi's skull.
Varga moved to intercept, but the other Krag standing guard blocked her, their bodies slamming together. Victim, Femi's little companion, who had been waiting at the forest's edge, darted forward and sank his teeth into the attacking Krag's leg, while growling.
Femi had expected the attack. He sidestepped the reckless blow, leaving the Krag momentarily off-balance. Seizing the opportunity, Femi drew the knife from his belt and slashed behind the Krag's knee, severing tendons. The Krag let out a blood-curdling scream as he collapsed to his knees.
Without hesitation, Femi pressed the knife to the Krag's throat. The blade gleamed in the torchlight, a silent threat. The Krag froze, with slight fear in his eyes.
"Nobody moves," Femi warned the others, his voice cold. "I don't want to start killing, but I will if necessary."
The air was thick with tension as Femi stood there, his knife still clutched in his hand, against the kneeling Krag. The other Krags froze, their expressions a mix of shock and fury, unsure of what to do next.
Varga took a breath and was about to say something, when.
The air was thick with tension as a massive form emerged from the corner of the camp, his presence commanding immediate silence. He moved with the quiet authority of a seasoned warlord, his pure white cloak, crafted from the pelt of a dire wolf mutant, rippling behind him like a living thing. The fur's silvered edges caught the firelight, giving him an almost spectral glow against the night. At his side stood Goruk, the Krag's hand resting casually on the haft of his two-headed axe, his eyes locked onto Femi with predatory interest.
Areius's gaze swept across the group, lingering first on Femi, still holding his knife to the Krag's throat, then on Varga, her stance defensive despite her injuries, before returning to Femi and the Krag at his feet.
"What's going on here?"
his voice low and even, yet carrying an undercurrent of menace that made even the surrounding Krags stiffen.
Varga stepped forward, her injuries more apparent under the flickering torchlight. The gash on her leg had begun weeping fresh blood, staining the wrappings crimson. "We wanted to enter..."she began, but Areius's raised hand cut her off.
"You were late for an important meeting, Varga," he said, his voice still even but the menace underneath grew more. "If you have no explanation, be prepared to face consequences." His eyes, pale as winter frost, bore into hers. "What is your excuse?"
Varga took a deep breath, her ribs protesting beneath bruised flesh. "We were ambushed by a Ebi Tara Buru while hunting. We managed to fight it off, but then goblins attacked, thinking we were easy pery, but we killed, them and escaped. We're injured and needed to see healer Goon."Her voice was steady, but her knuckles pale where she gripped her axe. "But they stopped us."
The boss's expression didn't change, but his tone turned cold. "So that's why your... pet," he said pointing at femi. "put a knife to one of my warriors?" He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down everyone spine. "That's an interesting way to repay hospitality... ratling."
He paused, surveying the scene. The wounded Krag panted at Femi's feet, his blood pooling in the snow The other guards stood rigid, awaiting orders.
"I have few rules," Areius continued, his voice calm. "No fighting in my camp. Obey my command. What you earn in battle is yours." His gaze settled on Femi. "Simple, isn't it?"
His gaze settled back on Femi. "It seems there was a misunderstanding. I'll let you off with a warning, Vaga . His eyes turned to her "Go get your injury checked, and then come meet me so I can inform you of our plan moving forward."
He turned to Femi. "As for your... pet... here, I won't tolerate any disrespect towards my warriors. But since he was defending you, I'll give him a light punishment." He paused, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and menace. "Two days tied to the pole, without food or water. That should be sufficient."
Vaga's nostrils flared, but Femi's gaze restrained her. "Don't," he whispered. "I don't want problem, with the big man. If he wants to punish me, so be it."
The leader nodded, seemingly pleased with Femi's response. "Good. Go get yourself checked, Vaga and you, Femi... you'll learn to respect the rules."
With that, he turned and walked back, disappearing into the camp, with Goruk, grining at his side.
-----+-----
Even now, as he contemplated whether he was to quick to anger, but with all honesty that fool deserves his knife. He even came again to harass him knowing he can't do anything. Despicable.
The thought faded as another gust of wind whipped through the camp, carrying the scent of roasting meat from the cookfires. Femi's stomach growled, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the commotion below.
Goruk's teasing had been cut short by a sudden flurry of activity, Krags barked orders, and the humans helpers scurried to arrange crates, and the clatter of wagon wheels echoed against the palisade walls.
Eh, Sir Goruk, sir," Femi called, his voice raspy from thirst. "What's going on?" He strained against the ropes, trying to get a better look. "Everyone's been busy all morning." The camp as Krags and human helpers as Femi would prefer to call them, were very busy.
Goruk folded his massive arms. "Merchants,"he rumbled. "Human ones. Should be close now—"
"THEY'RE HERE!" A shout erupted from the gates.
Goruk's smirk returned. "Speak and they shall appear."
Femi craned his neck. Beyond the gates, a caravan rolled into view, a line of wagons draped in garish fabrics, their axles creaking under the weight of exotic goods. Armored men, flanked them, their breastplates polished to a deceptive shine. One wagon, heavier than the rest, bore a sigil of a golden scale.
The lead merchant, a florid man in a velvet doublet, waved jovially. "Greetings, friends! We bring wares from the southern cities!"
Femi's curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of opportunities, these merchants might bring.