Mo wasn't sure if he was still on the right trail, until Mishka near tripped over a gnarled root that rose out of the soft dirt, eager to ensnare unwary travelers. After he caught the girl, (careful not to crush her tiny arm in his grasp) he chuckled softly. Well, as softly as a five hundred pound war machine could manage, anyways.
"Ah, do not feel bad, little one. You are not the first victim this tree has claimed, and you won't be the last," Mo soothed as he continued onwards.
"Stupid piece of timber," Mishka grumbled under her breath. "It shouldn't be jutting out like that." She quickened her pace to match Mo's massive stride, still glaring at the root.
"Hmm," Mo rumbled, "Perhaps. And maybe you're justified to seek vengeance for that root's arrogant ways. Maybe it would be alright for you to go back there and hack away at it with your tiny dirk," he offered.
"I want to," Mishka confessed, "Maybe I should.."
"Or maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings," Mo quickly scolded. "That root has been there for generations, unmoving in its purpose. Had you been more aware, you'd not have been made a fool of by a plant."
Expectedly, Mishka did not respond, choosing instead to pout. As the conversation ended, the sounds of Mo's massive feet pressing into the moist earth became the only ambiance. Were Mo alone, he would have savored it. It would have made the journey that much more enjoyable. However, with Mishka, it now marked an unfinished quarrel waiting for resolution. Things would never be as simple and quiet as they were before.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mishka looking down in dejection. Her arms still, instead of swinging. Even her abnormally cheerful footsteps were slow and uninspired. Turning his gaze back to the earthy trail that cut through the surrounding jungle, Mo couldn't help but feel…wrong.
Rolling his eyes, Mo realized he would have to make his amends, but why? Why did he care? This was just a tiny, half-breed runt he was leading around. Why did he care for its desires? Why wasn't he making war paint out of it for being so…emotional? What's more, why was it infatuated with him?
Mo shook his head softly. All of these questions were irrelevant after all. He was going to make amends, he was going to apologize, and he was going to degrade himself for this lesser being. Nothing would stop that, and he knew it. It didn't even matter if she was disrespectful or rude. He just wish he knew why he was going to do it.
Moving his left hand out to his side, Mo opened his fingers expectantly. After a few moments of silence, he turned stopped and turned to Mishka, who was staring in the distance, her brow furrowed, displaying her internal conflict.
"What is it, child?" Mo asked, no longer concerned with their earlier problem. "Do you hear something in the trees?" Even as he asked it, his ears flexed as he physically strained to focus his hearing.
"No, but I smell something," Mishka answered. "I don't know what it is, but I want to find it."
Instinctively, Mo's right hand reached for its companion; an obsidian edged hatchet that lay strapped to the leather belt around his waist. Meanwhile, his left hand drew around Mishka protectively, ready to cover her in an instant.
"Smell eh? It must be a new scent for you, if it stands out above the rest. Come, maybe we'll find it when we get to town. Until then, let me carry you so I don't have to worry about your backside being an easy target."
Mishka nodded once, moving in front of Mo as he scooped her up with ease. Now comfortably resting somewhere between the top of his left forearm and bicep, with her arm tied around his neck for balance, Mishka was as safe as she could possibly be. Mo would be able to fight as recklessly as he wished without fear of the only leverage against him being utilized. All they had to do now was walk.
"This isn't fair," Mishka complained after a few minutes. "How come I don't get to carry you?"
Mo laughed so hard that he almost crushed the girl without thinking.
"I'm not sure if you're trying to be funny, or serious. If you mean that, perhaps I should end you on the grounds that your mind is premature and unable to comprehend simple logic," he laughed again.
"Simple logic? Mo, stop using big words, or I'll crush you," Mishka challenged.
Mo laughed again, even harder than before. If the creatures of the forest weren't aware of their presence before, they surely were now.
"Oh my, what a temper. Be thankful I found you, runt. Most Orcs would squish you just on principle, despite your surprising courage and aggression."
"Nope. I'd squish them first," Mishka said confidently as she pressed her hands together to demonstrate. "And then I would be the strongest Orc! Warlord Mishka!" She continued making aggressive motions with her fists and hands, accompanied by squelching noises from her mouth.
Mo was officially unable to laugh anymore. This deranged creature he held in his arm was so ignorantly unafraid of the world around her that he couldn't help but be in awe. Were she a full Orc, Mo had no doubt in his mind that she would make good on her threats.
"Get bigger, and maybe. Until then, I thought I told you to leave the squishing to me? Your job is to be tiny and frail, remember?"
Mishka dropped her hands and let out a heavy sigh of defeat before leaning back into Mo's chest to look up at him. Before he could protest, her tiny fingers were upon his face.
"I can't protect you if I'm frail. Nope, not a good protector," she pouted.
Mo felt something in his chest grow heavy, then sink. For whatever reason, anytime this creature felt sad, or angry, or anything other than happy, Mo couldn't be allowed to be himself. He was forced, to react to her emotions, and he had absolutely no say in the matter.
"Bah!" he grunted, "I am not going to die, so I do not need protection. Therefore, you need not be something you're not."
"I'm not weak," Mishka growled in defiance. For some reason, Mo believed her, to an extent.
Mo closed his eyes for a moment. There was no winning this one. Thankfully, he didn't need to press it; they reached their destination.
"Alright, whelp. You win the round," Mo conceded as he came to a stop. Mishka flashed him a brilliant smile. Her teeth were extraordinarily white, made even more so by the glow of the moonlight reflecting off of them. Mo couldn't help but appreciate how healthy they looked. He just wished she'd grow some respectable tusks.
"How about you make yourself useful and scurry onto my back. I need my cloak," he said. As always, little Mishka was always happy to oblige, which only made Mo more proud. She was tiny, weak and vulnerable, but at least she did what she was told.
Quickly and expertly, she scaled up the wall of muscle that was Mo until she reached the summit of his shoulders. Throwing herself over the left side of his neck, she began rummaging through his knapsack. As she dug, she hummed softly. Mo would never say it aloud, but he truly cherished the sounds of Mishka's laughter, singing, and most of all, her humming. There was something to it he could never explain. It was always uplifting and soothing. He often questioned if the girl had magic in her veins.
"Got it!" she proclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. After handing him the cloak, Mishka hopped down to allow Mo to conceal himself under the thick wraps.
Mo was thankful, yet again, for the girl's patience. Covering himself under the large amalgamation of stitched leather wasn't the quickest task, especially considering he had to make sure the ends covered his large body equally. He could ill-afford to be exposed before he made it into the tavern at the center of the town they were about to enter. Her silence made it easier to concentrate, as opposed to the scenario where any other child would complain and whine and cause him to lose his temper and crush them.
Standing only a stone's throw away from the edge of town, Mo hunched forward to lower his height. The less obvious it was that he was an Orc, the easier this whole endeavor would be.
"Ready, whelp?" he asked little Mishka, who had just finished rubbing dirt onto her knees and arms. She hadn't been with Mo long, but she was already learning standard procedure for entering another town without issue. Her competence for a child was reassuring to say the least. If she survived to adulthood, she would make for a worthy companion.
Looking ahead, she let her eyelids droop like she was on the edge of consciousness. To strangers, a half-Orc was already one of the less intimidating creatures to be seen. However, if one looked starved, dirty and half dead, it would be completely ignored. Mo hated resorting to deception, but from a strategic standpoint, it was genius.
After getting into character, Mishka gave a simple nod, with a smile that did not match her appearance. Unlike Mo, she had very little against deception. She fully embraced it as a tactic for both survival and amusement.
Deceiving those hairless monkeys is the most fun a girl can have without stabbing them, Mo recalled her saying. Sometimes, he wondered if she was capable of deceiving him, and each time he wondered, he always found himself answering with a yes.
"Very well. Stay by me, and this will be over quick." he commanded as they marched forward.
After a few minutes, they were already at the mouth of the town. Surprisingly, it was unguarded, with only a sign to landmark the name of the town; Alewater.
Mo looked up to the moon to check the time. It was a little after midnight, which meant the Tavern was probably getting business.
"Hrmph," Mo grunted. "Seems as if drinking outweighs guard duty. Pathetic."
"It only takes a few seconds to drink anything. Why wouldn't they do that here? What if the town gets invaded?" Mishka commented, her voice thick with confusion and concern.
Sometimes Mo couldn't help but marvel at the whelp's innocence. Or ignorance. It remained to be seen whether it was one or the other.
"Fear not. This town's mighty defense will return in due time to chase out would-be invaders. Which means we should hurry," Mo chuckled grimly.
"Oh. Alright," Mishka said.
With that, Mo began listening intently to the sounds around. It had been so long since he last visited this historic town. It was famous for being the first to build a place where beer and whiskey could be brewed, and strangers could rest their heads. Provided they had the coin for both, that is. During the twilight hours, it would be the greatest source of activity, and therefore the loudest. After a few seconds, he began to hear the sounds of wooden mugs and iron weapons clashing against themselves and each other.
"Too easy," he chuckled as he moved forward.
As he walked, Mo was grateful for how skillfully Mishka played her role. Never straying too far away, and never becoming to close to him, she made it difficult for anyone to assume they were associated with one another. However, for it to work perfectly, he couldn't afford to check over his shoulder for her.
Following his ears, Mo navigated the small, rural town with relative ease. However, having to walk slowly, he couldn't help but examine his settings for escape routes and choke points. Where he would be chased, and where he could run. This town, like any other, seemed harmless enough at first. But, this town, like any other, was more than capable of turning into a war zone in an instant. All it took was a single Orc.
He cast that thought aside, deciding instead to scrutinize the human craftsmanship as he walked. The town, while small, was dense with single story buildings in every direction, separated only by small roads that cut through in small, cobblestone walkways. The houses were sized to fit maybe three souls comfortably, with two windows and a door in between. Some even had signs advertising shops. Every last one of them had the same shade of light blue painted onto the roof, and the same beige painted onto the exterior.
Humans were still just as boring as Mo remembered.
Finally, Mo's hearing lead him the source of the commotion. Surprisingly enough, the Tavern was just as he left it; the largest of the building in town. However, compared to the rest, that wasn't saying much. And, like the rest of the town's houses, the Tavern was painted in the standard blue and beige color scheme as before. However, the intricacy of the wood used was more than enough to signify Alewater's dedication its source of fame.
As he made his way to his destination, Mo noticed merchant stands in the front of the Tavern. Each one with a decent amount of activity about it. Some offered baked goods, where others offered general merchandise. He would have caroused, but as fate would have it, the stands were run by Elves.
"Cur," he spat on the ground as he entered the Tavern.
Once inside, Mo felt an air of familiarity wash over him. The rustic, wooden interior of the Tavern had been relatively untouched by time or creativity. Dozens of oak tables accompanied by spruce chairs lined the main floor in unorganized patterns. Some were empty, some were occupied, but every last one of them was spotless. Aside from minor chips in the finish, or a knife mark, the furniture was spotless, despite years of use and an endless number of drunken heathens. Something only a true, competent Orc would care to maintain. Mo's eyes wandered up to the barkeep.
When he found no one behind the desk, he slowly walked forward, careful to mind the drunkards about. Unsurprisingly enough, there were only Elves and humans in sight. Anyone with Orc blood would be wise to drink in the corners our outside.
Leaning over the barkeep's desk, Mo waited patiently for, who he hoped anyways, was still running the bar. He hated to think that this might be a wasted trip. Then an idea hit him. Fishing around his tunic, under his massive cover, he grasped a moderately heavy sack, made from thick cloth.
Retrieving his earnings, he then dangled them above the counter, bouncing them twice so that the coins may rattle, before dropping them next to an empty stein. Within seconds, he could hear footsteps coming towards him from the room behind the counter, thanks to the creaky floorboards.
Keeping his eyes down, Mo waited to hear the barkeep's voice before looking. He wanted keep hope alive as long as possible, so looking right away might kill that hope. So he waited, hand on his gold.
"How can I help ye?" a gruff, but delicate feminine voice called to him. Mo's eyes shot up in a flash.
Mo combed over the barkeep's appearance in only a second, eagerly looking for any sign that it might be his old friend. However, it only took half a second to realize that he was mistaken. The voice sounded familiar, but this woman was so tiny and slender. It was either half-Orc, or Elven. The distinguishing characteristics were becoming to similar to tell. Still, he did another look over just to be safe. Maybe the ale in the air was getting to him.
At the head, this girl had fair, grey hair that fell to her shoulders. Woven into it were beads and small bones. Her nose was pierced with a startlingly similar bull-ring, made of obsidian. Her eyes were a venomous green, with no other markings on her face, save for a few cuts and scrapes from the years of her youth. Her frame was small, slender and elegant. However, her posture was alert, ready and able to defend. Reaching for a mug or reaching for an axe would be one in the same for this girl.
Sadly, she was not the one Mo wanted.
"Aye? You ok in the head there bigg'n? Nobody summons me with a rattling bag of gold unless they know what they're doin'. Speak up or stop wasting my time," the barkeep barked, her fingers twitching at her sides. Mo swore he could hear a trace of regret in her voice.
"No," he grunted after a few silent moments, "you cannot help me. I will be going, now."
"Mo'kra?" the small woman asked quietly, all hints of aggression gone. In its place, worry and uncertainty.
Mo's heart quickened. Perhaps all was not lost after all.
"Jin? Is that you?"
Jin nodded once, keeping her emerald eyes fixated on Mo. Her combat stance had faded into something more submissive. She wasn't becoming more lax, she was giving up. Slowly, her small hands reached up and into Mo's hood, slowly gliding over his features until they reached his tusks.
"It's really you…I thought you were dead," Jin said quietly.
Mo was breathless for a moment. He couldn't decide if it was rage or sadness that stole his air, but he was sure both were involved.
"What happened to you, Jin?" was all he could bring himself to ask.
"The war. We lost, Mo'Kra. We all lost, and the Elves cursed us to this…frail, weak body," Jin explained with bitterness. Apparently, something alerted her, because her hands fell from Mo and to a mug.
Permitting his eyes to steal a glance, Mo caught the face of a rather perceptive looking human, eyeing him. Considering a sight like that amongst the drunken chaos of a Tavern, it couldn't be good. Mo didn't have much time.
"So that's what the Elves meant by 'cure' for the tusks. So help me.." Mo's mind wandered off somewhere violent and bloody.
"Never mind that. Quick, put your axe on the counter," Jin urged him. Apparently, she was considering the human with squinty eyes to be as much a threat as Mo did.
Doing so, slowly, Mo waited for Jin to speak again. Clearly, it was only safe to do so when she felt it was. As soon as he did, the human seemed less interested, and began looking elsewhere about the Tavern.
"Look, you can pity me all you want later. I'm weak and small-"
"And blue.." Mo mused, trying to disguise his rage with humor.
"Whatever. All I'm saying is, I'm still an Orc. I know when there's trouble afoot. What are you running from, Mo?" she asked, more demanding than requesting. Her eyes always were penetrating.
"How do you figure?" Mo asked, sidestepping her accusation.
"How do I figure? Mo'Kra, you've never once come to me unless it was…personal, or unless you had absolutely no other choice in dealing with something you couldn't just kill. You need information," she scrutinized. "'Sides, you haven't been very, uhm, personal towards me in some time. And I doubt you ever will now that I'm so disgustingly Elvish. Keep a girl's hope alive and let me stay useful by helping you with this, aye?" she asked with more than just a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
Mo didn't know how to answer her at first. For the first time since he met Mishka, he felt relatively baffled. But, he couldn't afford the luxury of being baffled for long. Not if he wanted to stay alive.
"I haven't been personal with anyone since you, Jin," he said. While that much was true, he was also saying it for her mercy. Jin's feelings for him were more than he ever wanted.
"Yeah, none of your caliber, right? At least, that's what you used to say before. Probably holds true now more than ever what with this," she motioned to her pale skinned body dejectedly.
Mo had never been so thankful for the sounds of a loud bar. At least he wasn't doing this somewhere quiet where, gods forbid, Jin try to make it more 'personal'. As strong as his feelings were for the girl, he couldn't be bothered with romance right now. He had Mishka to think about.
"Perhaps not," Mo disagreed, despite knowing how much it would mean to the girl. How much it would get her hopes up. "But time is short, and I have to leave soon…" he hinted.
Jin's eyes darted from one side to the other quickly, displaying several conflicting emotions. Among them were hope and shame, caught somewhere between desperation. She began to absentmindedly twirl her hair silvery, lost in her own thoughts. It wasn't until Mo pushed his sack of gold towards her that Jin became alert again.
"That's a lot of gold for free information," Jin observed. Despite her caution, Mo could see the gleam of greed in her eyes. Thanks be to fate that the girl was even more tempted by wealth than emotions.
"Perhaps you could sweeten the pot with your forgiveness?" Mo offered.
Jin bit her lip tightly. It finally occurred to her that Mo was trying to pay her to forget him. She wasn't anywhere near the same shape, size or definition of her former, Orcan self, but Mo could read her new body the same as her old one. She was more than just tempted. The problem was, she was trying to figure out how to have her whisky and drink it, too.
After a long pause, Jin's hands rose to Mo's offering. Then, to Mo's surprise, she pushed it back to him, rejecting it completely while shaking her head.
"Like I said, let a girl keep her hope, aye?" she asked, her voice caught somewhere between grief and delusional hope. Mo had to close his eyes for a count of ten in shame. When he opened them, the girl was gone.
"Great," Mo mumbled quietly to himself. His tusks seemed to itch with worry.
"Great indeed," Jin agreed to Mo's right as she rose from behind the counter with a massive stein. Sliding it to Mo, she then fished up one for herself before making her way back to Mo.
"Hey barwench!," a voice called from behind Mo, "Where's my Ale?"
Mo felt his jaw dip slightly, expressing his surprise. Jin gave an apologetic smile to him before looking over his shoulder to call to the customer.
"It'll be just a minute, Friend!" she said patiently.
"I didn't ask for an excuse, cur. I asked for my drink, now." the man said in a quieter voice, now only a few feet behind Mo's right flank.
"It will be a moment still," Jin insisted, maintaining her composure.
"Oh?" the man asked. Mo was sure he only being paranoid, fearing that the silence following the man's hesitation was being used to examine Mo himself. Unfortunately, he was wrong.
"Well, I suppose I can see why. What's the deal with the giant here getting the big mug, anyways? Thing looks like it could hold half a keg."
When the man's question wasn't answered, by Mo or Jin, he grew even more impatient.
"Say, you haven't touched your drink since you got it, friend. Don't suppose you'll mind if I take it, eh?" he said, speaking in truths, like what he said was going to happen exactly as he described it.
Just as he went to take Mo's drink, Mo reached for his obsidian hatchet. The drunkard must not have seen it in the first place, but now he did.
"Right, I suppose you do want it, then. I'll be on my way then." With that, the man left, all without getting his requested drink.
After a moment of silence, Jin fell towards the counter, grasping it with both hands for balance. Mo could spot the beads of sweat forming on her pale forehead as easily as he could drops of dew on a rose.
"I've never known you to be so easily…frightened," Mo observed cautiously.
"Yeah well, cowardice has sex appeal too, you know," Jin retorted weakly between breaths. Mo was didn't buy it. He understood that being half-Orc made you weak. Sickly, even. But Jin was no coward. She and that human had history.
"Jin, what did he do?" Mo asked grimly.
"Irrelevant," Jin answered back dismissively, her composure regained. "What's important is that you get back to explaining what you need help with. I may be useless in a fight, but I know how to find something's weakness," she boasted before drinking her stein in a single motion.
Mo didn't like this unspoken issue, but she was right. Mo needed answers quickly. The longer he sat here, the more he put himself, Jin and Mishka in danger. Speaking of Mishka, Mo did a quick look around the room for the girl. She was nowhere to be found. Good. She was becoming more and more skilled at stealth.
Turning his attention back to Jin, he reached for his mug and drank deeply, gathering his thoughts before exposing the nature of his troubles. Once his drink was finished, he leaned closer to Jin, letting her see his eyes under his hood.
"Demons, Jin. What do you know of them?" he asked in a whisper.
Jin's face went completely slack. Then, a crooked smile creeped up the side of her face, disbelief was clear as her eyes.
"Demons? Really? You know, there are a lot of nasties out there, but Demons ain't one of 'em," she giggled.
Mo chuckled softly, laying his right arm on the counter. Exposing his forearm from under the cloak, he pointed towards multiple sets of needle-like bites all over his thick muscle. Jin's eyes went wide with shock.
"That's impossible. How can this be? The last Warlock, a human by the name of Kael'Auror, was killed by the mages some fifteen years ago. Demons should be extinct!" she exclaimed, running her fingers over Mo's scar tissue.
"I don't know, and I don't care. I need to know how to kill them, quickly," Mo urged. "I crushed the little blighters, but they oozed away from me in puddles of black slime."
"Uhm, right. Quick deaths. I think I remember something about that. Maybe I have a book somewhere in the back," Jin said thoughtfully.
Mo was just about to speak, but the sound of a window exploding made his head snap to the direction of the crash.
Mo watched as Mishka sailed through the air, then crashed into three tables before hitting the ground in a violent series of rolls. All that was left behind was a trail made of splintered wood, glass and spilled ale. She was a good distance away, but Mo was sure he could see blood all over her.
Before he could act, laughter from the entrance of the bar distracted him. Walking in were three, moderately armed human guards. Each one wearing chain mail cuirasses, and a short sword on their hips. They were laughing even louder now, walking leisurely towards Mishka like a hunter walks to its prey.
"Alright, gentlemen. You've had your fun, now finish it," a smooth, young voice commanded.
Behind the three guards followed a thin man with golden hair and only a sword. Instead of armor, he simply wore a corsair's shirt, elaborate in design with commemorative medals pinned to it. His sword was strapped to his waist, with a silver insignia engraved onto the hilt. A captain.
As he stepped into the bar,(stepping over the dirt and glass like it were a dangerous booby trap) Mo could see the captain's clean face, with only a patch of hair on his chin. The human smiled a smug grin of satisfaction as his guards neared Mishka with their weapons drawn.
Mo stole a glance to Mishka, who had locked eyes with him for only a brief instant. He wished intensely that she would crawl to him. The guards would leave her be if she went to someone who would claim her. Otherwise, they'd be doing the town a service, exterminating homeless vermin.
However, after she looked to him, and then the guards, she began crawling away from Mo, towards the dark, abandoned corner of the bar where nobody drank. And, anyone close realized that they did not want to be there for the execution.
"Well, leave it to a monster to seek the darkness," one of the guard's commented.
"Yeah, but she's only wasting our time. C'mon," another said."
Mo's mind registered everything in only a second. His muscles tensed and the blood under his skin burned. Yanking off his coat, he balled it up, soaked it in a cask of ale, and hurled it with furious vigor at the group of guards. It flew past the first two, hitting the one closest to Mishka in the shoulder. The satisfying crack of bones brought a grim smile to Mo's face.
There was a brief pause of surprise, before the guards,(as well as the rest of the bar) screamed in unison: "Orc!"
After that, mayhem ensued. The sober ones fled the area, whereas the drunkards began to brawl, screaming obscenities and accusing each other of being a monster. Apparently, they'd been seeing Orc's all night. They were just waiting for a chance to attack. Sometimes, Mo really loved stupid humans.
Turning his attention back to the guards, Mo charged before they had a chance to gather their wits. Bringing his fist down on one, he could hear the puny human's teeth crashing against each other. The other was more alert, and began swinging his sword wildly.
Mo swore the guard landed a blow, but if he did, it didn't register. Spinning himself around, Mo channeled all of his momentum into his right fist, bringing the back side of it against the human's head so hard that he died instantly. Mo wasn't sure if there were even any connected bones in the man's neck anymore.
Then, a sharp pain erupted from Mo's side, right under his ribs, followed by a hot, agony twisting around. In a fury, Mo howled loud enough to stagger whatever stabbed him. Turning around, Mo identified the guard whose arm had been dislocated by an ale-soaked cannonball of leather wraps.
Mo looked down to the dirk in his side, then to the guard, who was already back-peddling. After pulling it out and casting it aside, Mo lunged at the human, gripping his shoulder with one hand, and the dislocated arm with the other. With a swift motion,(and a horrible scream on the guard's part) Mo ripped off the man's arm with ease, before bashing his head in with the severed limb.
With the guards dead, the only sound left was Mo's own labored breathing. That is, until the sounds of clapping contrasted the eerie silence.
"Very good! Truly, a decent demonstration of power and strength. A shame it was all for naught," the captain said with false sympathy.
Mo's rage had far from subsided. And, after a quick glance to Mishka, broken on the ground, it was strengthened. The pain under his ribs had vanished, and nothing was holding him back. Walking straight towards the captain, who was now brandishing his silver blade, Mo closed the gap in under ten steps. Towering over the human, he waited to see if the guard would run away screaming, or die screaming. Not that either option mattered.
To the human's credit, he did not back down.
"So, mongrel. Are you prepared to mark the permanent extinction of your race? Then again, maybe that creature over there has some of your blood inside of it, too. I think I'll have to kill it just to be sure," he mused.
Mo's rage cooled into something hard and jagged only seconds after approaching the man. Now that he spoke, his death wasn't going to be as simple as the others. No, this one needed to be made an example of.
Quickly, Mo's left hand rose to the captain's throat, disarming him of his weapon along the way. As the human ascended from the ground, his smile grew larger.
"That's it, Mo. The longer you spend on me, the less time you'll have to run from them," he chuckled.
Suddenly, Mo's mind flashed back only days before, when he and Mishka were attacked by those flesh eating Demons. Out of reflex, his hand twitched, instantly breaking the captain's neck.
Mo sighed as the captain's body hit the floor with a loud thud. No longer interested in the humans, Mo quickly remembered Mishka. Just as he went to run for her, his wound flared up intensely. Now that his adrenalin had passed, the pain was becoming sincere. His quick stride fell into a stagger after a few short steps.
By the time he finally got to the girl, she was on her belly, motionless-save for intense shivering, in a growing puddle of her own blood.
Kneeling down, Mo cursed silently to himself. She was going to be fine, but there was too many cuts, and even more glass. Infection was going to run rampant soon, if he didn't do something.
"Mishka, can you hear me?" Mo asked, somewhat surprised by the softness of his gravely voice, despite the carnage that just took place.
She nodded once. Mo was thankful for that much.
"I'm going to try and stand you up now. Do your best to keep-" Mo cut himself off as he watched the little half-Orc get to her hands and knees, despite landing them right in small piles of ground glass. At least nothing was broken. Unsteadily, she rose to her full height, trying her best not to cry.
Mo felt his face turn into a deep, hateful scowl. He had no idea the damage done was so bad on her front side. Mishka's skin was painted in bright blue bruises that were turning a sickening shade of red. Some had already swelled so much that the skin was starting to break. Her left eye was hit so many times that it had swollen up, hiding her beautiful iris behind a wall of pain and shame. Her lips had too many cuts on them for Mo to determine where fresh blood was actually hemorrhaging.
"All of this, because I let you out of my sight," Mo whispered to himself, caught somewhere between outrage and despair.
"I'm sorry," a broken voice whispered back to him. Mo's eyes flashed up, trying to read the girl's expression.
"I just wanted one of those things called cookies," she confessed. "And when the man came back, I tried to give him one. He started screaming. Then those guards came," she said between winces and ragged breaths.
"And then, when they threw me here, I tried to get away so they wouldn't attack you. I'm sorry…for being weak."
Mo's heart felt like lead cased in iron. When it started back up, he realized that this was exactly why he had changed. Why he would follow this child anywhere and everywhere. Why he would live for her. Why he would die for her. Despite not being an Orc, she'd proven to be more honorable than any creature Mo had met, aside from the other, human child. The one named Nora.
Mo turned his attention back to the girl, still shuddering, and probably losing blood quick. Mindlessly, he began picking out the shards of glass with expert care. It took him only a few minutes, though it would've gone quicker if he didn't flinch every time the girl whimpered.
Wounds clean, Mo sighed. The easiest part was through. Now came the difficult stage.
"Mishka, I need you to bite my finger as hard as you can. What I have to do now is going to hurt more than anything you've ever felt," he cautioned. Mishka did so without hesitation, trusting Mo implicitly. However, the look in her one visible eye was horrified.
Mo closed his eyes for a moment, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. He could feel Mishka's sharp teeth digging deeply into his skin, but unable to break the flesh. Reaching over, Mo grasped a keg of whisky with one hand, straight from the bartender's counter. Mishka's good eye darted nervously between the keg that hovered closer to her head, and Mo, worry pooling behind it like the tears she'd yet to weep.
"Close it, child. Close your eye," Mo whispered, trying to disguise his fury for the humans that caused his Mishka this suffering. That and the the terrible sorrow he felt for what he had to do. Then, in a flash, he dumped the contents of the whisky barrel onto Mishka's head in a flood of alcohol.
The scream was horrible. Mo had heard many, many screams in his life. But this was something else. This was the sound of a dying animal, caught somewhere between the will to live, and the desire to die. Even under the waterfall of whisky, with her mouth tightly biting down on his massive finger, Mishka was able to scream so loudly that Mo wanted to knock her out, just to end her misery.
Then, as the torrent subsided, and Mishka was left weak-kneed before Mo, she collapsed. Mo caught her mid-fall and scooped her up into one arm, gently cradling her.
"I'm proud of you, squishy whelp," he sighed, relieved that she made it in the first place. "I will get you all the cookies you want, for your valor here tonight," he vowed.
"Strong promises for a father to keep," a familiar voice said from behind Mo. Turning slowly, he saw Jin, clad in battle armor from head to toe, with a massive tome under her arm.
"What did I miss?"