Tentative Meeting & Entering The City

I had no clue how to act when the tall, brawny old man approached me looking like he'd just come out of a season of 'Vikings'. Hopefully my actions showed I meant no harm - that I was at least aligned with the group in some way - and that he didn't attack me.

Because as hopped up as I was after that fight, I felt like I'd attack anyone who came at me indiscriminately if they even hinted at attacking me.

Not to mention that my instincts were screaming as the Viking-looking old man approached. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was a Catachan like me due to his height, muscle mass and overall danger he was exuding. But the long hair and mixture of thick leather and chain mail armor told me he wasn't as true Catachan Jungle Fighters had durable enough skin and flesh that things like armor aren't necessarily needed*.

(*A/n - Pretty sure it says somewhere that Catachan Jungle Fighter's have the same defence rating as an Imperial Guardsman wearing Flak Armor...while wearing nothing but a tanktop. So they're pretty damn durable.)

The old man reached upward with his hands, holding them in a peaceful gesture which I still didn't fully trust, and finally began speaking when he was a few meters away from me, "Greetings, friend," he started in a thick accent I couldn't necessarily place. It sounded Scandinavian but also didn't. It was an odd one, for sure. He gestured to the dead greenskins around me with one hand while keeping the other up high in his peaceful gesture, "I must thank you for your actions on the field of battle. You no doubt saved many lives with your courageous display. My name is Gunnar," he said before turning the conversation to me, "And you are?"

"Derek Paxan Shen," I answered mindlessly, this body so used to answering the question it did it before I could even think up a proper greeting. Chiding myself mentally, I slowly lowered my weapons but continued to hold them at my side just in case, "I'm a wandering sellsword. A stranger to these lands, I guess you could say," I gruffly said before adding, "I thought it best to help the city instead of cowering away. Would've been bad for my prospects here."

The old man, Gunnar, gave a wide smile and gave a deep, bellowing laugh, "Well said, Derek Paxan Shen! Well said! A sellsword who's afraid of fighting would be quite the shit sellsword, after all!" his bass-filled voice echoed across the bloody field and with it being covered in death...it was quite an odd look for the old-timer.

"Just call me Derek," I said after Gunnar's laughing died down before I put my blades away in their sheathes after wiping the blood off them on my cargo pants and then gestured to the city, "May I enter the city?" I asked, still keeping an eye on some of the vanguard who were eyeing me suspiciously and with tense body language.

Last thing I want is a bunch of heavily armed people rushing at me. It'd be a shame to kill those who attacked and then be banned from entering the only city near me.

"Aye, friend Derek," Gunnar smilingly nodded before turning to the people behind him, "What are you all gawking at? He's as much a defender as any of you lot!" he spat out to those who still eyed me with their suspicious eyes and especially to those who'd kept their weapons drawn - rightfully so, might I add - as they faced me. "Get back in the city before those fucking Feral Orcs come back with reinforcements," he shouted and began walking toward the group before stopping and looking back to me over his shoulder, "Come on then, friend. Let's get you in the city and get your belly filled with some food and mead!"

I gave him one last look, searching his face for any ulterior motives or downright evil ones, but I found nothing and nodded in acquiescence before pulling up the Catachan Jungle Fighter classic tanktop I was wearing and gave my blood-covered face a wipe with what clean parts were left on the clothing. Pulling the folded red bandana from it's place wrapped around my forehead, I used it to wipe off as much blood as I could before I stuffed in my back pocket.

Nevermind food and mead, I need a fucking bath. I'm absolutely covered from head to toe in blood and gore.

Upon entering the city, I saw a sight both familiar and unfamiliar. Empty streets which were only occupied when the odd courier or carrier ran with messages or carrying quivers filled to the brim with arrows to the walls. I looked through the windows of the low-built buildings and saw families curiously or fearfully peeking through their curtains.

When I met the gaze of two near-identical twins, they both skittered away from their peeking position, either because they'd been caught or because I was quite the scary image as I was now. Pushing the thought from my head, I took in the rest of the architecture.

Cobbled streets and abandoned food stalls, meats and all sorts still grilling and spitting fats or juices up into the air. The Feral Orc, as Gunnar called them, obviously weren't expected. The presence of manhole covers in the cobbled road told me they had a working sewer system and the width of the street itself implied either heavy foot traffic or a lot of carriages coming in and out. In the distance, toward the center of the city, I could see the buildings there were much taller and unlike the wooden buildings nearer the edges, these buildings were made of stone.

The rest of the walk wasn't much further and we eventually reached what looked like a medical camp. The Vanguard charge I'd seen obviously wasn't the first, and the medical camp was filled with the injured. The stench of blood and antiseptic filled my nose but flashes of dim light soon rid my nose of the former.

I looked for the origin and saw a blonde-haired, blue-eyed elf woman going from injured person to injured person with a staff and touching the green gem embedded at it's top against the wounds. The light that came out flew into the wounds and stitched the flesh back together again.

There were others like the Elf, of all races, but they skipped over some people. These people, I saw, were the ones who had less mortal injuries. These injured were sought to by more classical medical professionals, who stitched up wounds manually with needles and thread or were cleaning less serious wounds with a clear liquid and then wrapping said wound up with gaze and bandages. Every person her moved with determined movements and each of them were obviously incredibly well-practised in all of it.

Part of me felt like they'd do okay as Medicae, with the skill they showed.

Either way, we walked through the camp and into the building it was set up in front of. The insides were just as frantic as the medical base outside, with people running to and fro with stacks of papers held close to their chests. Logistics, I'd assume. Any attack has them and from how some of the healers took coin after they'd healed the injured, it was no doubt that whatever this place was, it was fronting the bill for the majority of the people outside.

Gunnar's arm wrapped around me from the side and it took everything I had to not punch him in the throat or worse, and then came his joyful voice which seemed unfitting for the situation surrounding us. He really did seem like he came from Catachan.

"Derek, my friend! Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild!" he gestured to the orderly chaos in front of us, "The first and last line of defence against the chaotic bastards and monsters of this world. A sellsword like you should think about joining - there's plenty of coin in it for you if that's your motivation for life," he slapped me on the back and looked a little surprised that I didn't go flying forward. Looking around at the place, I actually took heed of the suggestion.

There's not much else i could do here, in a new world, is there? Both sides of me are soldiers and my original allegiances are no longer within my reach, so becoming a soldier here is out of the cards.

So, joining up and becoming an adventurer seems like my best bet. Travel the world, see what it has to offer, and maybe find something I actually want to do. A new job, a place I want to live in or maybe even find love. Who knows.

Nodding to Gunnar, I answered him, "I'll put some thought to it, Gunnar. Seems a more promising life than wandering around, at least. Could help me put my skills to use at least," I said before looking around for any sign of a bathroom. Looking back to Gunnar after seeing none, I quirked an eyebrow at him in question, "Is there any place I could have a wash? Last thing I need is to let the blood on me dry."

Gunnar smile in response before waving someone over, "Falni! Get your scaly ass over here, you old wart!" he said in a jovial manner despite his words being quite the opposite.

Looking to where his gaze pointed, I saw a race I hadn't seen among the vanguard. And I could guess why. The person that approached was small and unlike what I presumed to be fantasy Dwarves, this person was stick thin and looked like a particularly strong gust of wind could break them in two.

The most striking thing about them, however, was the fact they were covered in scales. The colour of which constantly changed between different shades of green as they walked. Their big bulbous eyes looked a lot like a Chameleon's and so did the rest of their head, actually, with two thickened ridges of scales above their eyes that seemed to function like eyebrows and a half-circle crest poking out the back of their head which had a pattern of scales that changed colour at a different time to the rest of it's body, making sure it was always distinguishable.

Falni, as Gunnar called them, seemed incredibly androgynous at first glance but from what I could gather, they were male. Something that was proven correct when they arrived and their reptilian mouth cracked in a smile, showcasing his sharp fangs, "Gunnar, you old bastard. Haven't died yet, I see?" his voice was tinged with a slight lisp, courtesy of his sharp fangs and thin tongue, and his accent was hard to place but he was understandable nonetheless.

"Ha!" Gunnar scoffed, throwing his head back in an overly-exaggerated manner, "Against some Ferals? You know me better than that, Falni. I wouldn't die to such a pitiful force. You'd need a Warlord Feral with them, at least," he bragged.

I assumed he did at least because I had no clue how strong or weak a Warlord Feral was. But I'm guessing they're strong from how Falni rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, Gunnar, we know how strong you are," he said in a tone of exasperation before one of his eyes moved to me without the other and looked me up and down, "Who's this giant then? A grandson or yours? He's already got the right hair colour," he quipped and that seemed to be a sore spot for the long-haired Gunnar who'd no doubt not had his grey hair for too long.

"At least I've got hair," Gunnar replied childishly before placing a hand on my shoulder, "This is Derek Paxan Shen. He helped out with the Ferals outside the city walls. You should've seen him - reminded me of myself in my youth, actually," he reminisced before catching Falni giving him a deadpan look, "Ahem, anyway, he was wondering where he could get clean and I thought of you as soon as he said it! What about it, Falni, think you can conjure up some magic from those old bones of yours?"

...I wasn't really liking where this was going. Am I about to get sprayed with magic or something? I don't remember consenting to that, Gunnar.

Falni, oblivious to my internal monologue, scoffed in reply to Gunnar and seemingly took the challenge up. He pulled a hand up and a green-ish blue light burst from his hand before coalescing into a ball of gel-like energy that quickly expanded and covered both Gunnar and I.

My hand inched closer to my blade at my side before I stopped it, ignoring the itching feeling that came from the gel-like energy covering me. I'd like a bit of warning next time. Dude nearly lost his head by suddenly springing magic on me like that. Fortunately, the entire magic fiasco was over after a few seconds and what was left were a pair of clean and tall bois.

As aggravated as I am about the lack of warning, the results speak for themselves. I don't think I've ever been this clean before - my skin and clothes were now blood-free.

That's...admittedly quite useful.

Smiling as best as I could, I held out a hand for Falni, "Thank you. I appreciate the effort," I thanked him, despite my earlier thoughts, and he took the hand casually with his much smaller and slender one. He shook it a few times before flashing a much more well-meaning smile than the one he used on Gunnar earlier.

"It's no worries, Derek Paxan Shen. Anything to help a hatchling and prove myself in a challenge given to me by the old callus next to you," he said with a continued smile before bidding us farewell and turning around to speak to a few people frantically carrying paper and money around.

"Hatchling?" I questioned, turning to look at Gunnar who shrugged.

"His race, Lizard-kin, refer to those they think are young as Hatchlings. And because they live for a few hundred years longer than humans like you and I, they consider most people under the age of fifty as hatchlings," he laughed before beginning to nudge me further into the building, "But nevermind Lizard-kin oddness, let us feast before we get called out to do battle once more!" he enthusiastically bellowed and I couldn't help but feel his enthusiasm was infectious.

Despite feeling so high strung over my new situation, I couldn't help but go along with Gunnar. I guess part of me wanted to have a few beers and something to eat after all the shit that had happened today as well.

I did feel a bit uneasy at his implication for more battling. When the Feral Orcs retreated and ran away, there were no more than fifteen or twenty of them - were they really going to come back after such a harrowing defeat? For more death? Man, they're reminding me more and more of the Orks from my Catachan memories.

As the two of us walked further into the Guild, we went through a hallway which led and opened up into what looked like a bar crossed with a canteen. True to the utter size of the Guild from the outside, there was plenty of space on the inside and so the bar/canteen was massive in size.

Striding up to the bar, there was a giant grey-skinned humanoid behind the bar, even being taller than my new Catachan body. Dude must've been 7'7", at least. The only difference between him and Gunnar and I, would be his build. He was broad shouldered, sure, but the pot-belly he was sporting was very much unlike the flat stomachs we had and while his arms were thick they were far from well-muscled. Even then he was an intimidating sight, even if all he was doing was cleaning a tankard with a rag.

Gunnar leaned over the bar and called out for him, causing the giant humanoid to look to us and sport a smile that showed a few missing teeth and let me get a better look at his face which showed one of his eyes was a completely milky white and had a pretty gnarly scar across the skin surrounding it.

"Eglath! Two of your largest tankards of mead, please!" he said in the only volume he seemed to speak in - loud, that is - and flashed four copper coins about the size of a 50p coin or a 50 cent coin.

The titan of a man, Eglath, put the tankard and rag he was holding down and reached under the bar where he pulled out a pair of tankards that looked a little big even in his oversized hands. He held them under one of the many big kegs lining the bar counter and filled them to the brim. Eglath put them down and took the coins before pocketing them in the pouch of the thick leather apron he was wearing.

Gunnar pushed one of the tankards towards me before picking up his own and raising it toward me, "To many more drinks to come and may Tvelte never claim us in the heat of battle!"

"Yeah, to that," I awkwardly said, having no clue who or what Tvelte was, but still lifted my tankard nonetheless and clinked it with Gunnar's before taking a long and well-earned drink. The mead was surprisingly nice tasting, being something I'd never tried before and it had a lovely spicy-sweet aftertaste. "Wow," I intoned before smiling wide and looking to Gunnar, "That's some good mead. Or at least I think it is - I've never tried it before."

"You've never had mead before?" Gunnar looked at me mouth agape in shock before he shook his head as if all was lost in the world, "You truly are a stranger to these lands, hm, Derek?" he questioned rhetorically before putting a hand under my tankard and tipping it toward me and forcing me to drink, "Drink up then. We're not leaving this bar until I've shown you all the glorious flavors of mead!"

Going along with it, I continued drinking in tandem with Gunnar until the both of us had finished everything. My Catachan physiology kept me from feeling anything from the mead, for now, and my stomach barely even felt bloated from what must've been three or so pints of the stuff. I guess it didn't hurt that the liquid tasted great.

"That mead is called Minos Fire, after the Southern Dwarf mining town where it's made," Gunnar said as he wiped at the leftover mead on and around his mouth and facial hair. "Now, how about we try out something a bit drier and much spicier?" he laughed before pulling out four more copper coins from the pouch at his waist, "Eglath! Two more tankards of mead, but this time make it some Hrakir Drought!" he told the giant grey-skinned man before looking to me, "This comes from down south as well, but a bit further down than Minos. It's brewed by the Humans of Hrakir, a trading city based in the Great Drought."

I nodded along, genuinely curious about this new world I found myself in. How big was it? How many continents did it have? How far along was technology? Did magic stop technological innovation? Questions galore. But questions I could actually find the answers to unlike why I'm here in Arcadia and how I got here which God knows the answers to.

Eglath took our empty tankards, quickly washed them out and then filled them back up before putting them back in front of us and taking the four coppers from Gunnar.

Looking down at the mead, I curiously noted that it was a darker colour than the previous mead. Whereas Minos Fire had a genuinely orange-y/amber colour, this mead had a golden brown look to it. Kinda like whiskey, I guess. Picking up the tankard, I took a testing sip of it and felt surprised by how dry it was yet also by the utter spice and flavor of it. There was the barest hint of sweet honey but it worked well with the spicy, vaguely cinnamon-esque flavor.

Once again, Gunnar and I downed our mead without problem and he proceeded to slap me on the back as he laughed, "I don't get much chance to drink like this, my friend! I guess our big size gives us this sort of luxury, no?" he laughed before looking over to a nearby group of Dwarves and then looked back to me and whispered conspiratorially, "Dwarves talk a big game but I've yet to meet one who can match me drink for drink!" his whispering broke off near the end and he began laughing again.

I was beginning to like Gunnar. He was a nice guy and genuinely friendly. Maybe it was part of his culture to be friendly or at least friendly to those who can fight - he does look like a Viking after all, and those cultures were pretty much 'If you're strong, you get respect'. Kinda, anyway.

Pretty sure my 7'1" frame and brawny body have something to do with it as well.

My earlier suspicion aside, I was slowly beginning to relax into my new alien surroundings. Sure, it wasn't like I'd completely forgotten my home and neither had I fully gotten over the fact I'd been suddenly transported to a new world - in a different body at that - but I'm pretty sure I was on the right path to beginning to do so. Guess I really did need a drink, huh?

Just as Gunnar was ordering a third round, I heard a bit of a commotion behind us, my keen ears not even slightly dulled by the drink in my system. Turning and looking over my shoulder, I saw a group of Dwarves arguing with two women.

The Dwarven group numbered around seven and were all kitted out in heavy armour which covered their short but stocky frames from head to toe. Each of them either carried a battleaxe, war axe and shield, or a warhammer and some of them were readying to pull the weapons from wherever they were keeping them.

"We don't need yer kind in here, greenskin!" the lead orc spat, slurring his words ever so slightly and even from here I could smell how drunk he was. He seemed pretty tall for a Dwarf but even then he was dwarfed, pun intended, by the woman he was pointing at.

She seemed to be an Orc but was considerably shorter, less bulky and a lighter shade of green than the Feral ones I'd killed earlier - maybe a distinct difference between civilised Orcs and the Feral ones? - but she had the same kind of features. Black hair just like the Feral Orcs from earlier but much more well-maintained and the same strong features but much more feminine as well. Her face was angular but the angles were much softer than they were on either mine or Gunnar's face, and said face had a few scars - one more noticeable one being across her right eyebrow, across her eye and down her cheek.

Her eyes were different compared to the Ferals. They had eyes which were varying shades of red, yellow or orange. This woman's eyes were a dark emerald green and actually shone with a decent level of intelligence unlike the Orcs from earlier which were only filled with manic savagery.

All in all, she was a real beauty all things considered. She had a strong look around her, like she could handle herself and wouldn't break upon the slightest touch like your stereotypical fantasy princess.

I couldn't get a look at her physique with her armor on but from how she was casually carrying herself while covered in thick steel plate armor...it wasn't much of a leap to think she was decently muscular and athletic underneath it all. From the way the armor flared out around her hips said she wasn't lacking womanly charm either.

True to my thoughts about her being able to handle herself, her face remained stoic as the Dwarf continued berating her and she tried to make her way passed the group toward the bar.

But unluckily for her, that wasn't gonna happen.

"Where do ya think yer going, eh?" the drunken Dwarf and the group behind him pushed forward as one unit and managed to knock the Orc woman back a little, "We just said we don't need nor want yer kind around here! Yer savage brothers and sisters are out there, beyond the walls, so go and join them for a drink instead of fuckin' around where civilised people are drinkin'!" he audibly worked up some phlegm before spitting it down on the boots of the Orc and her green eyes went stormy for a second before they cleared.

"I'm a Half-Orc," she said simply, gesturing to herself, and speaking with a surprisingly girly voice despite her height and frame, "I've got nothing to do with Feral Orcs and everyone knows civilised Orcs and Ferals are two completely different species."

She's obviously had to explain this more than once. Fucking hell, that's sad - racism still exists in a magical fantasy land. Then again, what did I expect? Wherever there are different races or just plain differences between people, there's bound to be a bone to pick for some ignorant bastards. Same thing on Earth, same thing in the Imperium and the same thing here on Arcadia.

"Which one of yer parents is the Orc, then?" the Dwarf asked before looking back to his buddies, "Because whichever one isn't has some shit poor taste in partners - should've found a Dwarf to fuck. Would've been better than a fuckin' Orc!"

He laughed, his friends laughed but it was the Half-Orc woman who got the last laugh.

She smirked a little with her darker green and plump lips, showing off a little more of one of her tusks, "My dad was a Dwarf, what of it?"

That stopped the Dwarves from laughing and the woman's smirk developed into a full-blown smile. Before it developed any further, the woman's friend who appeared to an Elf with dark brown hair and light brown eyes got in between her Orcish friend and the group of Dwarves. Her face, which was covered in white tribal tattoos along her forehead, under her eyes, the edges of her cheeks and some single line coming down from her bottom lip all the way to her chin.

Unlike her 6'3" and big Half-Orc friend, this Elf was shorter but not by too much at 5'9" and had a much more lithe and athletic-looking figure which was easy to spot underneath her leather armor. Opposed to her friend who seemed more like a frontline combatant - who had a tower shield and claymore on her back - the Elf had a bow and quiver on her back alongside two short swords at her side.

Even being shorter than the Half-Orc/Half-Dwarf woman, this still put the Elf quite a bit above the Dwarf in front of her.

The Dwarf took one look at her long and down-turned ears before he scoffing and waved his hand dismissively at her, "Fuck off, leaf-ear. When I wanna listen to a Wood Elf, I'll go find one humping a tree in a forest," he got out with a tone that was bordering on venomous.

Welp, that's enough racism for one day.

I looked to Gunnar who was also now watching the confrontation, just like everyone else in the bar was, and this was probably the first time I'd seen him looking genuinely angry. His usually smiling and laughing face twisted in a frown that didn't sit right on his face, like he was unused to doing it. Which I could believe.

Though before he could get into it, I walked away from the bar and toward the two groups.

I'd dealt with shit like this while in the paras. And it still pissed me off when it's happening in another world. Shit like this belongs in the fucking trash, along with anyone who spews it.

Easily, I barged my way through the back of the Dwarven group and I met eyes with the Wood Elf and Dwarf-Orc who seemed oddly confused or curious about my approach. So when I picked up the tall (for a Dwarf) and stocky Dwarf by the collar and easily lifted him by his armor, they looked on in both humor and slight surprise. The weight of the Dwarf hardly registered to my beefy arm and my fingers gripped the metal of his torso plate hard enough for it to slightly creak in response.

"That's enough shit out of you, mate," I spat before walking past the Dwarf-Orc and Wood Elf duo, drunken Dwarf in hand. He seemed to only just now realise what was happening and began thrashing to get out of my hand. But it was a useless action and I carried him all the way through the Guild and out to the medical encampment out front.

I dropped him to the floor and he clattered like a bag of bricks, catching the attention of just about everyone in the camp.

He turned to me, his bearded face twisted in rage, "Yer fuckin' big bastard--" he was cut off by me using some of that preternatural Catachan speed and putting one of my knives to his throat, sliding the sharp edge between the gaps that allowed for him to move his head around.

"I said, that's enough shit out of you, mate," I harshly whispered before leaning in closer, "I ever see you pulling a stunt like that when I'm having a drink again and I'll cut your balls off and feed 'em to you. Think twice before you go doing bollocks like that or I'll come and kick the shit out of you," I scowled before pulling away from the quickly paling Dwarf and sheathing my knife again, "Pathetic cunt," I left it at that and spat on the floor not too far from him, the very act of speaking to an ignorant twat like him putting a bad taste in my mouth.

I turned, ignoring him and pushing him from my mind before I turned around and did something a little more grievous to him and entered the Guild again. I walked through the main hall, catching a few looks at me but I ignored them and walked back into the bar.

Gunnar was laughing his ass off and the duo I'd helped out were sending me thankful looks.

The Dwarves, however? They look about as pissed as they could get.

"Fuck off," I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder, "Your leader's out front pissing himself. Better take the rest of your business and go to another bar. I don't drink in the presence of cunts like you," I dismissively said and walked through the group once more. Each and everyone of them looked like they wanted to try something but from my earlier display of strength, and the fact I'd come back into the bar unharmed and their posse's little leader wasn't anywhere to be seen, stopped them.

They scuttled off soon after and I walked over to Gunnar who was still laughing. When I finally got next to him, he clapped me on the shoulder a few times and pushed a tankard of mead into my hand, "Well said, friend, well said! I couldn't have done it better myself bwahahaha!" he broke out laughing again and I smiled before taking the tankard and downing some of it.

The taste this time was the happy medium between the first two. Dry but also sweet. I liked it but it didn't have the same type of kick as the previous two.

Seconds later, I felt a tap on the shoulder and turned back to see the duo standing a bit behind me.

It was the Wood Elf who'd tapped me and the one who first spoke, "Thank you for intervening," she started with a grateful smile, "If we instigated it...it would've caused problems, no matter how right we would've been for giving those pricks a beating," her smile faltered but returned all the same soon after.

"Caused problems?" I asked, confused, "Why? They were being racist dickheads. Can't see how you'd be in the wrong if you retaliated to their antagonistic behaviour."

"Why?" the Wood Elf seemed confused before realization dawned on her, "Right. You're not from around here," she said, more to herself than me, but I nodded nonetheless. "Because of past history with certain groups of Wood Elves and Orcs, there's a general mistrust between them and other races. And with the Feral Orc attack, there's been an uptick in Mora getting the short end of the stick from the locals and other Adventurers. If we reply to it with any sort of violence, it can be turned on us by certain people who hold such prejudices against our races."

Realisation dawned on me and I nodded, "Ah," I simply said before shrugging, "Still sounds like bollocks, honestly. Back where I'm from, if someone starts talking to you like that everyone basically expects you to wallop them."

"It sounds like a joyful place," the Wood Elf joked and I smiled in response before taking another swig of mead, "The name's Valcyne Emberheart, Iron tag Adventurer," she stuck out a hand and I took it as I lowered the tankard from my lips.

"Derek Paxan Shen," I said before remembering what she said earlier, "Were you a part of the vanguard I ran into earlier?" I asked and she smiled and nodded, causing me to give her a somewhat apologetic look, "Uh, sorry about, you know, looking so primed to maim anyone who got so close to me. It was how I was trained and I was still on a battle high," I said the truth as that is how Catachan Jungle Fighter's are trained - to never let your guard down when you think battle might be nearby. And in 40K? Battle is always nearby.

Valcyne waved her hand dismissively, "Oh, nevermind that," she said before gesturing to the Dwarf-Orc, "Mora here gets the exact same."

Mora's green skin went a little darker around her cheeks and she not-so-subtly stepped on Valcyne's foot as she put her own hand out, "Nalmora Brighthandle. Got my first name from my Orc mom and my surname from my Dwarf dad."

"Jeez, Mora," Valcyne smilingly said as she worked her foot out from under Nalmora's, a teasing hint to her voice, "I know he's a handsome guy and all but you don't need to go all Golem-like and speak like a stoic automaton." Her friends skin went a little darker at that comment and she averted her gaze from me a little. Kinda cute, actually. Valcyne turned back to me and spoke up with an offer, "Do you want to have a meal with us? Our treat seeing as you helped us out."

"Well, I'd love to but I'm having a drink with a friend," I gestured to Gunnar who was just smiling and then decided to cut me off from speaking any further.

"Go have a nice dinner with these two pretty ladies, Derek," he pushed me on the shoulder and laughed, "There will be plenty of chances for the two of us to drink like this, I promise you!" he said in the usual jovial tone I expected of him.

With that excuse not usable, it looked like I was gonna have to have some food with two beautiful and exotic ladies--Oh, woe is me~

But before I could turn to accept Valcyne's offer, a human dressed in robes and holding a staff rushed into the bar, hooting and hollering.

"The Feral Orcs are back with reinforcements!"

...Fucking hell, that was quick.

"I guess you'll have to pay for my lunch another time, Valcyne," I gave a wry grin which was returned by the Wood Elf and I turned to Gunnar, "It's okay if I help out, right? I'd rather not sit around here while the city's being attacked."

Gunnar smiled and wrapped his arm around my neck once more, "Derek, my friend, if you'd said anything else I'd have been disappointed!"

I'm glad the first guy I became drinking buddies with is such a viking-esque dude. Anyone else would've questioned my readiness for battle and overall enthusiasm for killing. But not Gunnar - what a lad, man. And just like that, the four of us were back on our way to fight off some Feral Orcs. Just your every...wait, what day is it today? Ah shit, whatever, it's Feral killing day as far as I'm concerned.

...More and more Catachan is coming through as time passes and I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.