the man and the beast

by Remnault

follow the story of the lone farmer Hans, and the story of the prominent bestigor Nathiqe as their paths suddenly cross. how will these two act in the following days after their first meeting? can one really trust the other? one way or another, they will have to learn how to make this tense pact of trust work out for the both of them. F/bestigor X M/human. possible future lemon.

2. Chapter 2 routine

Chapter 2. routine.

After a half hour trip by carriage, Hans reaches his destination. he is now entering the small town of dark wood. The town itself was a small collection of buildings. Varying from businesses, houses, and the church of sigmar. The entire area surrounded by thick woodlands. The town itself was not well known, mostly working as a rest stop for travelers, and rarely has army regiment march through. Hans wasn't even sure it was on the official maps.

He guides his horses to the town center where most of the shops were located. as he passes through, he waves to several of the locals of this small town. Mostly families looking for a quiet place to live, with the occasional old soul waiting to bite the dust in the middle of nowhere. The building here are of similar build to the ones in the empire cities. Tall buildings with grey or brown sloped rooves, shuddered windows decorating the grey stone brick sides. Hans reaches the town center and starts to untie his goods from the cart.

While an actual stand would be nice, he didn't feel it was just with how little time he was actually in town for. The other stands sold things like hunting goods, tools and appliances, there was even one for fishing supplies. Once he's set up, he begins his sales. Throughout the day it's, its mostly parents buying his farm goods for lunch and dinner. Some buying his veggies as mid-day snacks. All in all, a slow day for Hans. Not that he would complain. While he did enjoy getting his fix of socializing, he did prefer it be on good terms with people. Not having to deal with a busy day of hagglers and thieves, or people crowding his cart.

With all the spare time, he managed to get a nice sized basket of apples for his horses from a neighboring stand selling various fruits. He would give the horses a few during the slow hours and save the rest for home. Once a majority of the cart had been emptied of its goods, he packed up what little remained and was preparing to head to the potion shop. Before that however, his attention was taken by the yelling of someone near the church. "PRAISE BE TO SIGMAR, HEAR MY WORDS HERETICS!"

There he goes again. While the town was pleasant, one of its downsides was this bald individual here. Jurgen Sauer was a devote follower of the faith of sigmar. He wasn't always like this. he used to be a man of joy and positive faith. But years of decline on the empire have taken their toll on many, Jurgen being a prime example. As the years went on, he spoke less and less of the joys in this world and of worship, and more on how everyone is doomed to hellfire if they don't follow the faith.

Even those at the church considered him extreme by their standards. He wouldn't be out of place as a flagellant on the front lines in the slightest with his mad ramblings. It was a wonder he hadn't been removed from the town yet. apparently, the guards can't remove him until he commits an actual offense. That priest knew the line he was riding to keep his constant fear mongering.

As the bald man continued his theatrics, he notices Hans staring at him, and decides to involve him in this. "BEHOLD WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LACK FAITH! YOU MAY END UP IN A LIFE OF SOLITUDE AND DAMNATION AS THIS MAN HERE LIVES!" a nerve had been struck. To imply Han's life was one of sin was nothing short of slanderous. Hans wanted to throw whatever was in his hand at the priest, but he knew it would cause trouble if he did. He wanted a way to get back at the man using him as an excuse for guilt.

His idea came in the form of a group of children passing by him, busy playing whatever game they currently made up. With the priest's attention turned away from him to harass someone else, he gestures the kids over. They approach Hans cautiously, not knowing his intentions. "How would you three like to make some money?" the three children, excited at the prospect of more money for spending, listen carefully. Hans fishes one of the smaller crates from his wagon and hands it to them. "You see that angry man over there?" he gestures to the priest. The three boy's nod. He opens the crate to reveal the eggs that didn't sell today. While he would usually eat them or throw them out, he had a much better idea on what to use them for today.

"I want you three to throw these at him for me. You do that, and all this shall be yours." he jingles the small bag of coins in his hand. It was roughly a fifth of what he made today from sales so far. The kids look to one another, before shaking their heads in agreement. Jurgen was still too distracted with his gospel to notice the kids getting into position at an alley entrance. "DO YOU ALL TRULY WISH TO LI- AGHH!" mid preaching Jurgen was nailed in the head with one egg, then another, and another. Soon it was like a hail of white hitting from the side.

As he screamed and tried to wipe the mess from his own egg like head, the kids were laughing hard at the spectacle they caused. They ran out of eggs quickly, once the final crack could be heard, they ran down their planned escape route of the alleyway. Hans was more than satisfied at the result of the now yoked priest. As he wiped away the egg from his eyes, he looked over to where the assault started. He knew it was children that did it, but the crate they left behind was one he recognized. He knew that was one of Hans is crates from the cart. He approached Hans, his eyes nearly glowing in rage.

"HOW DARE YOU SULLEY AN ACOLITE OF SIGMAR!" "No idea what you're talking about sir." Hans couldn't hide the grin on his face, the plan working this well left him in great mood. He knew that Jurgen would be purged from this place if he was caught screaming/attacking children. "I KNOW YOU WERE THE ONE WHO PUT THOSE HOOLIGINS UP TO THIS! DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?" a little, Hans thought to himself. "I don't know what you mean sir. I simply think this I sign from sigmar, a sign that you should watch where you preach. You were way out in the open for that one." "YOU THINK THIS IS MY FAULT?" "a little." "BY SIGMAR, YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" "Whatever you say egg head."

Realizing that he couldn't further his accusations without attracting the authorities, he heads back into the church. He must need a change of clothes. Once he is gone, the kids come around the corner for their payment. Hans tosses the bag to the lead of the group. "you kids were perfect! ""think nothing of it, sir." And with that, the kids scampered off to spend their new Ill earned riches. With that important piece of business done, Hans needed to make his next stop at the apothecary. With a short ride in his carriage, he arrived at the apothecary shop. It was a tall building with a large window like counter at the front. It had had a sign above it in bold wood letters saying, "potions n poisons". Despite not actually selling many poisons, it got the point across that this is where you went for concoctions.

Now at his destination, Hans grabs the crate of fungi and shrooms he saved for this part of the trip. He walks up and greets one of the two owners of this business, Gunter. Hans never did learn his last name; he wasn't sure he ever even heard anyone mention before. he was just, Gunter, the potion salesmen. He had greasy black hair and a finely twirled mustache of matching color. he certainly had the appearance of a salesmen. he was only slightly shorter than Hans, who stood at solid 6 feet. "Evening Hans, how are you doing?" "Amazing Gunter, you should have seen it. this group of kids threw a crates worth of eggs at old Jurgen right outside the church." "Oh my, you wouldn't have anything to do with that would you?" he said with a smile that showed he knew the true answer. "Why of course not, I would neeeever do something so heinous to a righteous man of the faith."

A mutual chuckle was let out by both parties. "You here with more ingredients?" "As always." "Great, he's been on my case about getting more, this should shut him up for a while. The backs already unlocked." "Thanks Gunter." "don't mention it." Hans made his way around the building with the crate in hand. He opened one of the two doors at the back of the building. One of which led into the shop and upstairs of the building, the other to the basement where the magic happens. As he opened the door, a green gas began to seep out of the opened entrance. "OI, CLOSE THE DOOR YA GIT, YA LETTIN THE MAGIC OUT." a scraggly voice yelled out to him from the basement.

Once he makes it into the cobblestone basement, he places the crate on the nearest table, fishing out a handful of whatever red mushrooms he can find. He looks over and see's the pointed hat of a short figure poking over the top of one of the various crowded counters. As the figure walks around the corner, Hans is greeted to the sight of the shop's actual alchemist. A small green creature with a long, slightly curved nose, and tall hatted robe. The little bugger was called Grotlick the devious.

He had earned the title of devious after abandoning his post at karak eight peaks. The story was that apparently, he ditched the place while it was being invaded and made it all the way past black fire pass. Once there, he snuck onto a merchant wagon. he was caught by the owner of said wagon, Gunter. He promised Gunter he could turn all the ingredients he had in that cart into potions of grandeur. On the terms that Gunter kept him hidden, and not to sell him out. Gunter ended up agreeing, which led to him having some of the best quality potions in the land. Turns out Grotlick was a natural at brewing from his time as a night goblin. Keeping him was a gamble, a profitable one, however.

After selling ingredients the shop for a while, they brought Hans in on this secret. Since Hans was their main source of ingredients, they felt he deserved to know. And if he tried to snitch, they would just leave to the next town. "You better has a good shipment. Runnin out of everythin lately." He said with an annoyance Hans guessed wasn't directed at him. "If you need them so badly, then why don't you just come get them yourself?" he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I aint gettin caught by the guards just yet git." Hans didn't know how grot kept his rowdy behavior in check if he's locked down here at all times.

Before he can dwell on it for too long, his attention is brought to the snarling to his side. In an instant, he throws the mushrooms down that he grabbed earlier. In an instant, Chewa, grots squig, emerged from seemingly nowhere and started to dig into the red fungus greedily. Chewa was a lot smaller than most squigs, roughly the size of a small hound. Hans could hold him like an excited cannonball. As long as he was fed, he was a delight to be around. He had several patches of spikes on his head that made holding him an awkward but rewarding feat. Grot told him that red fungus was chews favorite, because it was red, like him. Hans went with it because it was kinda neat seeing a squig eat something not screaming.

"So, about my payment…" "eh, oh that. Its on that crate over there, greedy umie." Hans sees the patchwork bag being referred to. He goes over, checking inside to make sure it's a real payment. The first-time grot handled the payment, he ended up with a bag of teeth, and grot not understanding the problem at all. As he grabbed it and made his way out, he stopped to examine this strange little set up down here. The walls of stone were broken to allow the staircase access and for a fireplace/chimney to be set up down here. The system to let smoke out safely was beyond him. There was a big cauldron in the fireplace, and a plethora of bottle scattered about. Some full, some empty. Some glowing, some seemingly shaking from the contents inside.

Various barrels, crates and other storage scattered about the "workshop" with various items of need. The tables had a variety of tools on them, including a little pestle and mortar Hans lent to grot. There was a small tent in the corner, decorated in green skin fashion, with wooden carvings of one of the twin gods on it. he couldn't remember which one grot liked, was it gork, or mork? Hanged next to the staircase was a wooden symbol. It was a round shield with a yellow background. It had a blue crescent moon on it with the same features as a goblin as it smiled wickedly with its sharp teeth. As Hans ceased his gazing, he began making his way up the stairs.

"OI, where you goin? Don't you wants to hear about the eight peaks?" Grotlick liked to tell you stories of his past while brewing. It seemed to bring him genuine joy to have someone to listen to him while he worked. Probably due to his needing to be kept locked away all the time. Usually, Hans would take a seat and enjoy some mushroom snacks, courtesy of grot, while petting Chewa till the little ball of teeth fell asleep. They were pretty good stories too. Like when he survived being doom diver ammo, or when he managed to bring down a raging stone troll with his gobbo buddies.

While it was fun, Hans already promised another minividual his time tonight. "I promise I'll listen next week, alright? I already made a promise to drink with someone tonight. See ya then!" Hans said as he quickly bolted upstairs before Grotlick could try to guilt him into staying. "Fine, don't need you anyways. Aint that right Chewa?" Chewa snorted loudly, trying to sniff out more red goodies.

Hans exits less than gracefully as he half trips on the last cellar step. He dusts himself off of the various mushroom particles he gathered down there as he hops back into the wagon. he doesn't want to risk smelling of goblin around his drinking buddy. A short ride to the opposite side of town leads him to the only tavern of dark wood. A building similarly built to the rest, but with more loiterers and strong smells surrounding it. it also had a large sign with the name "shaded wood inn" above the door in fancy lettering. It was pretty standard with tables, drinks, food, and rooms upstairs for those inevitably overdoing it.

the tavern had a spread of war trinkets on the wall, each with little plaques of their history. Swords, helmets, black powder parts. it was a little after sundown, so when Hans entered, the place was only about a third full of patrons. Hans was looking for one individual, however. It didn't take long for Hans to hear him. "DAWONGR. THERE YOU ARE!" Hans smiles at the loud and familiar welcome of Kothek shield bearer. Hans makes his way over, happy to unwind with the armored, brown bearded dwarf.

Kothek was a strange one, in that he spent more time away from the dwarven keeps being amongst humans. His existence was nothing short of loud and full of life. The stout dwarf was almost always in the tavern, seeming to live here, with breaks to go back to the dwarven keeps for supplies. Hans takes a seat across from him and takes a swig from the already filled mug left for him. He took a sip of the frothed ale and enjoyed the cool warmth it brought to his. Body. He could tell from the taste it was the supposed Bugmans ale. It was supposedly some of the best in the dwarven kingdom. It was certainly the best Hans ever had as he downs a third of the mug in his first chug.

"How have you been Kothek? I was worried you would drink yourself to death before I could see you again." The dwarf let out a bellowing laugh that annoyed some who wanted to drink peacefully. Hans thought it was a pleasure to hear such vibrance in this dreary place. "You know the only thing that can kill me is…" the dwarf seemed to ponder for a second, before yelling out. "Nothing has yet, so I can't give you an answer!" he laughs hard at his own joke as Hans sips his drink with a smile.

Kothek used to be an ironbreaker for one of the dwarven keeps. It was never clear on which one, because he would say a different keep each time someone asked. While the origin of who he served was vague, he had the armor and shield to show his rank. The armor he wore was thick, and the shield could probably bounce back a giants strike he would say. He had become good friends with Hans after he saved him from getting robbed. Hans saw the dwarf passed out in one of the alleys in town, with thieves picking his pockets. Hans yelled out for the thieves to knock it off and for the drunkard to get up. This apparently woke up the dwarf enough for him to get up and thrash the criminals.

Even if he was too drunk to know what was going on, he had enough sense to crash into the ones emptying his pocket. All he had to do was run headfirst into them, the weight of his armor doing the rest. With the thieves writhing in pain, Kothek gave Hans a thumbs up, before wandering off to find a safe place to sleep. Since then, they have been solid drinking buddies. "So, what have been up to? I figure you must be doing something exciting out there if it keeps you busy the other 6 days a week." "Hmm, not much. Ooh, I did pull a prank on that angry pastor by the church." "Ooooh, I need to hear this." Hans went on to tell of the egging, and other minor occurrences at the farm from the week. Nothing as grand as Kothek could tell.

After finishing his tales, he got strapped in to hear about the many experiences of the dwarf. Tonight's story was of the time he got to watch one of the minor instances of diplomacy between dwarves and high elves. After a couple hours of the political tale and several harsh words of anyone with pointed ears, Hans was staring to hit his drink limit. It didn't take much of the ale to get him feeling drunk. "So, then the elgi threatens to cut off the king's beard, and oh ho, you best believe axes were thrown on both sides." Hans felt bad that he couldn't pay full attention because of his head feeling light as air.

"That's *hic* amazing kothkek. But I think I've gott *hic* go now." "Ay but the night is still young!" "Young for you maybe, but us humans age *hic* faster. Or something like that. So, unless you carry me back, I need to leave." Hans said in jest. "You know I wouldn't leave you like that; I'll carry you to a dwarven keep if need be!" he said with a slight tone of seriousness and pride. "With legs that short, Id probably wake up before you got me home." Hans said without thinking. "That one's goin in the book." The dwarf mumbles to himself, clearly set on letting Hans leave now.

He knew it was because Hans was drunk, and if it were anyone else, he would have thrown his axe at them. So instead, he would just leave him be and ask for an apology when he wasn't about to pass out. to mock a dwarf's height was nothing short of an insult to everything about him. But he enjoyed Hans is quiet company too much to let the grudge ruin it. the way he would always listen gave the dwarf too much joy to give up. It humbled him to an extent to have someone like Hans to drink with. He stayed at his table, now determined to empty the whole keg he brought with him on his own.

Hans shambles out onto the street, not meaning to impersonate a zombie. He notices several slumped over individuals outside, probably those in similar circumstance to his own. Most of them having their clothes much more tattered and no ride waiting for them outside, unlike Hans. Thankfully there are a handful of guards for the town, soldiers of this elector state sent here to help maintain order. they knew an area like this is ripe for issues and therefore have a few armored souls patrolling the area, preventing fights and muggings.

Hans wabbles over to his cart and hops into it with a thud and a groan. "Let's go you two." He gives the horses a slight pull of the lead and drearily guides them back to his home. As Hans leaves the comforting light of the town's lanterns, he is surrounded by nothing but thick woodlands, he can't help but feel slightly tense, despite his drunken state. All it would take was a single wolf right now and he might not make it back, let alone whatever other horrors wait out there for him.

Thankfully his woozy state made the trip feel a fraction of the length it normally would as he guide's the horses to the barns front. as he struggle to get himself down, a loud crack of thunder shakes him from his efforts as he falls off his cart with a crash into the dirt. With a groan of displeasure, he wanders to his home. "Looks like a storm tomorrow. great." And with that, his night was over as he passes out into his bed with a fuzzy memory of the trip back.

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Nathiqe decided to make a few stops on the way back to her tent. the truth was, she didn't have a lot to do in the camp. It was mostly just preparing for fighting, fighting itself, or gathering resources. She never really managed to find much to do in the moments of spare time she had. She couldn't really tell if it was a bad thing really. She makes her way towards one of the hunting sections of the camps. This is where food is brought from gathering, its also where it is processed and or ate at usually.

Beasts of all kinds harvested from the land are brought to this section, usually to dine on while spit roasted or cooked in some other crude way over fire. The number of bone effigies increases as Nathiqe gets closer to the feast. The number of bones left around after cleaning and eating left lots of skeletons to be used for grisly decoration. She arrives at the center of the camp where a large firepit has several cows spit roasted over top of it. the smell was alluring to the many beasts and made her stomach rumble with even greater force.

She walks over to one of the large roasted bovines and cuts off a thick slice off the haunch. she chews quickly and has it down her gullet on mere moments. Eating like this helped to avoid the charred taste it usually had. With her stomach full, she only had one other place she wanted to visit today. As she left, she noticed a few cages with humans trapped in them, most likely waiting to be consumed by the horde. They were normal sized, clearly not built for fighting. She felt a little bad for them. she never felt bad about killing soldiers on the field, they were there to fight after all. She wouldn't feel guilt for slaying them, similar to how they would not feel guilt for killing her. it was just what made sense to her.

if she was part of a settlement raid, she would sometimes point those who were in hiding the safest way out of the fray, usually she would not see them again. She continues on her way, wishing the caged people an easy death here. She continues her way through the worn down paths of the camp till she arrives at the fighting pit. It was a 20foot wide hole in the ground that was roughly 15 feet deep. The inside littered with bones and blood of previous competitors. The walls were smoothed out and a few ladders were left around to let fighters in and out of the hole. around the top were a few logs and stones for some viewers to sit at, although most would have to stand during the matches. The area was not crowded currently, only and handful of Ungors and Gors watching the current scraps.

Nathiqe decided to take a seat on one of the empty logs sitting at the pits top. In the pit was a group of ungor, all fighting it out in hopes of greater standing in the herd. Some held spears and some held dull swords, most just circling each other waiting for an easy opening. A handful of bodies scattered the ground already, the match coming to an end soon. while not an impressive fight, it was better than doing nothing, watching the bottom rung fight. as Nathiqe watched, another bestigor sat beside her. His horns twisted around in a manner that looked uncomfortable on him. His hair was a mix of black and brown patches. As he sat, he eyed Nathiqe up, his gaze becoming more noticeable as he stared.

Nathiqe tuned it out as best she could, this type of thing happened often. She was the only female bestigor in the fighting ranks of the herd due to her unnaturally high strength and prowess. This allowed her to avoid the path of becoming doe to some other beast. While it was nice to actually have a proper place in the ranks, it had the downside of scrutiny from the males, and attempts to woo her in unflattering manners. This was just another one of those she thought. "You should not be wearing armor." The beast spoke crudely in black speech. She scoffs, "who are you to tell me what I should be doing?" the opposing beast seemed to feel challenged and stood to his full height, a few inches taller than Nathiqe.

"I would say I am your better, and that you would be better suited in my tent than trying to act like a warrior." Nathiqe began to feel frustration building, she worked hard and killed to get here, and she wouldn't let some drooling idiot tell her otherwise. She rose to her hooves, walking away to avoid her anger getting the better of her. Before she left however, the beast groped her rear with a laugh," maybe you just need to be shown your place." His laughter was met with the loud crack of her fist to his jaw. He reeled back, nearly falling to the ground, not noticing the fire in in her eyes. "IN THE PIT, NOW!" she screamed.

with that, she quickly went down the pit, not taking the time to enjoy the site of the offender spitting out several sharp teeth. As she jumps from the ladder, she makes her way to the center, with the challenger still getting his bearings. The previous fighting group was down to two ungors. They both look over at Nathiqe, one shouting his protests at her interrupting their match. She responds with a quick slice of her axe, cutting the one right in half in the middle. Blood and organs spilling to the ground as he tries to crawl away with little success. The other looks in fear at Nathiqe, seeming to realize his choices, he runs for the ladder.

With the previous match is "winner" gone, it was just Nathiqe and this beast she saw as a fool. She has her axe ready as he lands in the pit, his own axe drawn. His jaw is slightly misplaced now, the earlier blow doing a greater number than she thought. "I WILL CHOP OFF YOUR HANDS AND KEEP YOU CHAINED IN MY TENT!" he shouts with a violent rage. Nathiqe simply snarls in response, waiting for his charge. He rushes in with reckless abandon, swinging wildly, hoping his strength would let him win. Nathiqe dodged the blows with grace, moving around his axe swings in a way the male beast couldn't believe. She ducked and spun with a precision that was clearly the result of great practice. The fight between two bestigors began to attract a crowd of jeering beasts above, most cheering for the male, but a handful cheering Nathiqe on as well.

One of which she spotted was the "winner" of the previous match, seeming to cheer for her the hardest. She continued to block and dodge for several minutes, some swings getting scarily close to landing on her. as the twisted horn bestigor stood there, breathing much heavier than her, he roars one last time before charging headfirst at her. with this last swing of his, Nathiqe goes in for the kill. As he misses his blow, she finally swings her own axe, breaking his right in the middle and sending it across the ground in splintered pieces. It took him a moment to register his weapon broke, as he quickly scatters to grab a dull piece of gear from one of the nearby bodies. As he reaches for a rusted sword on the ground, his hand is quickly severed from his arm, thick blood gushing onto the blade and ground.

He screams in pain as he is on his knees, clutching his gushing wrist. With another swing, his other hand is missing, along with the section of arm he was clutching. With the beast surged with shock, he screams every swear and curse at Nathiqe, hoping that his last words may make some sting. They do little more than give her the pleasure to know she has won. With a final swing down, she severed his head from his body, his twisted expression of pain dropping to the ground. She takes a moment, letting her ragged breath show now that the opponent was dead. She grabs his severed head and roars in victory, spurring the audience to follow. Despite her not being the crowd favorite, the beasts enjoyed the brutality shown.

She throws the head across the pit with a thud upon its landing. She quickly makes her way from the pit, now ready to rest for tomorrow. As she navigates the cheering crowd and next volunteers, she spots the ungor from the previous match. She walks over to him as he freezes. Worried he is about to get finished off like his adversary, he completely stiffens. He is pleasantly surprised to feel her hand ruffle his head a bit as she gives him a smile and a grunt of affirmation. Nathiqe appreciated having someone cheer her on so enthusiastically, even if it was because she helped him win a match on accident.

She makes her way back to her tent with the urge to sleep growing ever stronger. As she undresses for the night, she stretches to loosen her muscles and relax. Once all her gear is put away, she wraps up in the thick mix match of hides and pelts she calls bedding. She takes a swig of her water skin as she settles in., she has a big day tomorrow after all. For tomorrow is the day this herd will become hers. The anxiety and excitement kept her up, however. She tried and tried but just couldn't fall asleep. After an extended period of nothing but ceiling staring, she decided to do what always works.

She began to hum softly. There was a tune she usually heard being sang/hummed amongst the caged humans. It was pleasant to her ears, and she soon learned how to hum it to herself. She usually saw it being sang to those who were in distress while caged to help calm them. she used it to help herself sleep and it worked wonders. As her eyes grew heavy to the pleasant tune she hummed, her thoughts and dreams were only of the success she would have tomorrow.

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Hi everyone, just wanted to say sorry for the delay on this chapter, I have had a lot of stuff going on in my life. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and for what's in store next.