Lights in the Night Sky

[The Mongrel]

"By which you mean you've already made up your mind, and Stars above or hells below, you're going to do what you decided to do. It's a very orcish trait. Mutt was just the same." How many times had he told me that he had heard my words with his soul, and his soul would hold them, and then do the exact thing I'd asked him not to do? I'd lost count even during his lifetime, and lost any desire to remember a handful of petty disagreements after his death.

I sighed a little bit, withdrawing my hand. Casimir knew the disdain of humans, their fear, their loathing. He did not understand that the elves were ten times worse. He would find no succor in safe places, no welcome at warm hearths, whatever noble deeds he had done, because he'd been born with an orc's face. If I was any judge, he deserved so much better than that, and he deserved it more than I did. Anything I did in Raiaera, I did for selfish reasons. He was going out of a genuine desire to defend the defenseless, to heal the hurting. These motivations were as alien to me as chrysanthemum and dandelion salad would be to him; selfless nobility didn't seem to benefit the noble.

A moment passed in silence, and my ears caught something. A hitch in his breathing beyond just the pain of a broken rib. A quickness in his pulse that didn't seem to come from simply sitting and talking. Of course; we'd fought side by side until every single enemy laid dead at our feet, then we'd shared a drink. I don't know what his human blood and training were telling him, but as far as his orcish side went, that was courtship.

Well, why not, if that's what happens? He hasn't got a lady, and Mutt is long gone.

"Timbrethinil. You'll want to start there. You'll encounter the edges of Xem'Zund's corruption and learn more about what lies deeper in the nation. It was once our greatest forest, full of silver birches. These days..." I shook my head. "But I believe you'll do fine there. You must be an excellent woodsman if you were able to track me down. I'm not accustomed to being found."

[SerCasimir]

He smiled, pleased with the compliment to his woodcraft. He had another sip of wine and handed it back to her, feeling quite warmed by it, and looked at her again, his eyes playing over her form. When he realized it, he looked away again, feeling embarrassed by his impropriety. He felt an inner war with himself, the subject different but the combatants the same. On one side fought his sense of propriety, his knightly rearing. The other the ferocity of his orc blood. One side chided him for thinking of the lady elf in such a base manner, the other roared at him to continue. They had tasted each other's heart in combat. They had drank and slain together.

He looked away, forcing his eyes to the ground and breathing deep control himself.
"I have always been a good woodsman, though in truth I do not know why. My father's keep was near the forest, but he was no real woodsman, and orcs are rarely known for their woodcraft. I've just always felt a connection to the forest, an ease and comfort there. I have heard of the beauty of Timbrethinil, and in truth I have always hoped to see it. Perhaps some small patches may remain, and if not, perhaps they will recover, if the darkness is pushed back."

[The Mongrel]

"Perhaps." I drank deeply; might as well, as we were getting to the last of what the jug had to offer. "It was beautiful. My stepfather took my brother into Tembrethinil often when he was a boy, but we all went from time to time. In parts, it was almost religious to my family, but I never felt the same pull."

I'd been drawn to the smaller, quieter nooks, not the grand groves. I'd found my peace there, rather than elation my mother and sister displayed in the open areas where the trees shone. I always took it to mean that the Stars felt I should hide, if they took any notice of me at all. But maybe... maybe they always meant I should take shelter and grow in preparation for the day I was needed.

That's stupid, Illara. I could hear my sister Thisearia's voice as clearly as if she was right by my side. You were a tool to be used, and used as such. The Stars never wanted any part of you. Then why did I go on to face Pode when none of the Bladesingers were deemed worthy? I still didn't understand.

"Friends of friends, and friends of theirs, are working to cleanse the Plaguelands. If they're successful, perhaps beauty will return to Raiaera." I drank again, then handed the jug back and scooted a little closer to the half-human knight. If only more people had sensitive elven hearing, they would find the world a more entertaining place. Granted, my senses are finely honed, even among my own people.

I could hear the war raging within him. And I thought it was silly.

I brought my hand up to his arm, tracing my fingers over the hard, strong muscles. My voice dropped to a murmur. "I can hear your thoughts in the pace of your heart and the rhythm of your breath, Casimir. Have you considered seeing what I thought?"

[SerCasimir]

She touched him, and his breath caught in his throat. Could she really mean what it sounded like she meant? His experience would tell him of course not, but she at least had once had a half-orc lover. He chuckled slightly awkwardly and rubbed his head as he looked at her. She was quite perceptive, or perhaps he was quite obvious despite his attempt to hide it.
"Forgive me Kon, I had not realized how keen your hearing was."

He smiled and worked up his courage.
"What do you think?"

[The Mongrel]

I'd seen this exact same shyness once, more than four decades ago. It was the timidity of a man who had only known a whore's touch, on the verge of his first night with a woman who would just take him as he was, without haggling over prices or recoiling from his face. That night, so long ago, I'd only known (at best) the touch of men who'd paid for me. But that wasn't the case this night. Dimly, I was aware that whatever happened next, I'd be feeling come dawn.

I slid myself up to sit on one of Casimir's legs and reached up to trace a hand over his face. My other hand planted itself on his chest, halfway for balance, halfway to feel the powerful orcish heart that beat behind the man's battered ribs. "I think that words are weak right now."

[SerCasimir]

He growled slightly at the pressure on his chest, but found himself leaning into the hand on his face and looking up at the woman who straddled his leg. No one had ever touched him so, and without quite being aware his hands found her thighs, sliding up and under the tunic she wore. His hands were calloused from countless hours gripping sword hilts and lance shafts, and he ran them off onto the skin of her midriff.

"I...Aye, words are weak."

He had never been with a woman in this way. Without payment, who looked into his eyes and touched his face. Always they had faced away. He was afraid he would hurt her with his tusks, or be too forceful. Elven women were more fragile than orcs or even humans.

But yet, she had been with a half-orc for years. Surely they had lain together, and yet she seemed undamaged by him. He leaned forward and tried to kiss her, as best he could. He had no experience with it, and his tusks were somewhat troublesome, but he managed to work his lips into something resembling a proper pucker and pressed them against hers.

[The Mongrel]

The kiss was awkward and clumsy, like he'd never used his mouth for anything but speaking, eating, and maybe biting. The hands that touched me, on the other hand, sang with a power I knew well, sheer brute force that was delicately restrained, mindful that I was so very small in comparison, mindful that my body was fragile.

Not that fragile.

"Relax." I bit his lower lip, dragging my teeth over it. "It's been a long time since I laid with a half-orc, but I'm not so delicate as you might think. And I'll tell you if you're going too far." I kissed him again, guiding him to an easier, more natural version. My right hand moved to his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair, but my left hand ran down his exposed chest, tracing old scars and working on the knots of his shirt.

Here in the moss and leaf litter, under the trees and the stars, we were going to do this right. We had the entire night for it.

[SerCasimir]

At the feel of her teeth on his lip a flame was kindled, and at her words his hands grew bolder, sliding down over her full and perfect rump, squeezing firmly. He returned her kiss, her method more effective than his clumsy attempt, and he pulled her closer against his hard torso while she worked to undo his gambeson. When she had untied it he quickly pulled the sides apart to give her better access to his flesh, feeling her fingers play over the various scars he had acquired from blade and claw, flame and fang. His mouth found her neck, taking care with his tusks, but letting her know he respected her strength.

His fingers began to untie her breeches with surprising dexterity as the heat of her body so close to him stoked the flame her teeth had ignited.

[The Mongrel]

"Mmmnnn..." My neck has always been one of those spots that makes me melt, and Mutt had never really been able to hit it just right. It wasn't his fault; he'd been too big. Casimir found the right place immediately, and his size wasn't an obstacle there. "A little...oh yeah." If that mark overlaid the one Pode had left around my neck, I wouldn't be complaining.

Speaking of size, more obvious signs of the knight's rising passion were becoming apparent than a quickened pulse and harder breath. All orc down there, aren't you?

As his shirt hit the ground, I dug my nails into his scars, acknowledging them, appreciating them, making them mine while he worked to get my trousers off. I left warm spots - bright and bruised from injuries of the day - alone to heal, but took no care about the rest of him. I'm still an elf; if I'm not using weapons, there's no way I could actually hurt him.

[SerCasimir]

Finally undoing the ties of her breeches he leaned forward suddenly, putting her back to the grass so he could pull her breeches off her legs. Her smallclothes remained but he leaned back down to kiss up her smooth toned legs, to her stomach, pushing her shirt up as he did so, until he finally just chose to remove it. He drank in the look of her flesh in the moonlight, running his hands up her toned body, carefully avoiding her fresher wounds but running his calloused fingers over the older scars. His hand closed over one of her small breasts and his mouth found her neck again, her reaction it before being most pleasing.