Femi was just hanging around, the bitter wind tugging insistently at his thick, unkept fur. Since he had nothing better to do, he began reexamining some of the questionable life choices he had made recently, his sharp brown eyes narrowing against the breeze as he replayed recent events in his mind.
He wasn't quite sure why things had gone the way they had, but it certainly didn't help his concentration that he was very hungry and itchy. The dried blood and grimy dirt that stained his fur only made the persistent irritation worse.
He really contemplated the vast, unknowable meaning of life and pondered why his enemies would want to see his end so much, what personal offence had he committed to deserve such focused and dedicated hatred.
The crisp, clean scent of the trees and the damp, fresh snow filled the thin air, a almost pleasant contrast to the persistent metallic tang of his own sweat and old, weeping wounds.
Although this was also not the first time he had contemplated such profound thoughts, it was decidedly the first time he did so while being unceremoniously tied to a tall, pole, a very long and splintery pole that stretched high above the bustling, noisy Krag camp below.
The annoyed Ratling jerked around again with a grunt, his long tail flicking in pure agitation as he tried in vain to get comfortable, as if that was a remote possibility in his current predicament.
The rough, coarse fibers of the thick rope binding his raw wrists tightly to the damned pole chafed relentlessly against his skin, creating a constant, nagging discomfort that gnawed at his resolve, not cursed those below ancestors.
With a heavy sigh of profound frustration, Femi finally gave up the futile struggle and continued to somberly contemplate his fate. Down below, he noticed that particularly ugly Krag sneering up at him again while pausing his work instead of carrying on with his assigned job of moving heavy weapon crates.
The Krag's tusks were a disgusting yellow and were pockmarked with holes, as he muttered something under his breath, his small, piggish eyes locked onto Femi with undisguised contempt.
"Eh, my friend, look front! Is that all you can do? If you be man, climb up here and beat me! Nonsense!" Femi mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His whiskers twitched in brief amusement as the Krag's already sour face darkened into a scowl.
"You want to cry."
The Krag's sneering expression twisted further into an ugly mask of rage, his thick, grimy fingers curling into meaty fists as if he actually wanted to climb the towering pole and break Femi's leg. But before he could act on his violent impulse, a loud, booming shout came rolling from the other side of the camp.
"Back to lifting the crates, Grishnak!"
The blocky, powerfully-built Krag, with his formidable two-headed axe strapped securely to his broad back, marched with purpose toward the base of Femi's pole. His heavy, boots kicked up snow with each step as he approached, his muscular frame would be casting a long, shadow over Femi if he wasn't so high up. Goruk's dark, eyes gleamed with amusement as he gazed up at Femi.
"How's the view from up there, Ratling?" he said with a small, predatory smirk.
Femi exhaled dramatically, his breath forming a small, wispy cloud in the chilly air. "Shockingly beautiful. My burning lungs from the cold air is also wonderfully invigorating," he replied back, his tone bone-dry.
Goruk just grinned further, a frightening sight, his jagged, teeth on full display. "It seems you still have your sharp tongue with you, even after a full two days of being tied to the pole."
Femi couldn't help but sigh wearily as he thought back to the foolish series of events that had started this entire nonsense.
----+----
It had all started two days ago.
Femi had managed, with immense effort, to drag a barely-conscious Varga back to the relative safety of the camp after trekking for what felt like an eternity through the white wilderness, their bodies battered and their spirits worn dangerously thin.
The dense, forest had been utterly unforgiving, every snapped twig and rustle in the thick underbrush had set Femi's already frayed nerves on a razor's edge, his large ears twitching and swiveling at the slightest sound. They had done their best, with limited strength, to avoid the territory of lurking predators.
Then, finally, as they crested a snow-covered ridge, Femi had seen the camp's welcoming lights flickering like distant stars in the distance, torches mounted on rough wooden posts, their warm, hazy glow cutting through the cold night's darkness. He had also spotted some of the Krags posted at the camp's edges as sentinels, their hulking, broad forms unmistakable even from a distance. It seemed they had noticed them too almost immediately, because one of them, a particularly ugly brute with a single crooked tusk, had spoken in a voice raspy with shock.
"What in Karggroth's name happened to you, Varga?" the Krag watcher asked incredulously as he took in their utterly exhausted and ragged state.
Varga's clothes were torn and caked in dark, dried blood, her arms covered in deep purple bruises and streaked with dark, crusted wounds. Her leg was in even worse shape, a deep and angry gash ran along her thigh, the makeshift bandages she had hastily wrapped around it now soaked through with a fresh, crimson stain.
Femi's own fur and clothing were no better; his new shirt was slashed in multiple places, revealing matted fur beneath, and his usually sleek cloak was torn and matted with grimy dirt and dried blood.
"We'll be fine, thanks for asking," Femi had replied, his voice rough and hoarse from the cold air. "We were just unfortunate enough to have been thoroughly abused by a very large, very angry armored bear, and then a bunch of opportunistic goblins decided we looked like easy victims for an ambush."
"Wasn't talking to you, Ratling," the Krag spat out while scowling deeply.
Femi gave the Krag an entirely unamused look back, his long tail lashing out in irritation.
"We need to see the old man. Now," Varga said, forcing the words out, her voice weak and thready. She was visibly struggling to stand on her own, her lean muscles trembling with exhaustion.
"The boss has been looking for you," the ugly Krag sneered, not moving an inch to help. "Said something specific about you missing an important meeting." He crossed his massive arms, his thick, biceps bulging. "So, unless a direct threat to the entire camp is chasing you, you should go see him first." Then, with a deliberate, dismissive glance at Femi, he added, "And keep your noisy pet in line."
Femi had simply had enough of this pointless delay.
"I'm not in the mood for this rubbish 'I am beneath you' attitude," Femi snapped, his patience completely gone. "As you can clearly see, both of us are half-dead on our feet. We've been running and fighting all day, and I honestly don't have time for this foolishness. I'm heading back to camp to rest and find her a proper doctor or something. I'd genuinely appreciate it if you helped me carry her, because I can't feel my f— AHHH!"
The Krag had struck Femi hard in the face, sending him crashing down into the snow. Pain exploded across his jaw, his vision swimming dizzyingly for a moment.
Varga immediately became fully alert, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as her body tensed for an immediate fight. Even in her weakened state, she was dangerous.
"Tell your pet to know their place," the Krag spat onto the ground near Femi. "They are just servant here, nothing more."
"And what gave you the right to punish what's mine?" Varga growled, taking a, threatening step forward."
But Femi, from the ground, couldn't let that blatant disrespect go unanswered.
"My friend, is that what your woman told you last night? Is that the real reason you're so angry this cold night?" Femi taunted as he slowly pushed himself up, but sat back on the ground to stabilize himself, while wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth.
The Krag's eyes locked onto him with terrifying intensity, his gaze piercing and full of promised violence. "What did you just say to me?" he rumbled, his voice thick with open menace.
Femi's voice was calm. "You heard every word I said clearly."
The Krag's stare intensified, his anger becoming a palpable force. The very air between them grew heavy and still, the other nearby guards shifting their weight uneasily, sensing the impending conflict.
"Look at you, all puffed up," Femi grin was bloody. "I can almost see smoke coming from your head. You must be truly pissed off, or maybe you're just angry because what I said is true."
Slowly, Femi rose to his feet, his movements a little shaky. "Since you clearly don't want to simply let us pass peacefully, let's discuss this like reasonable beings," he suggested. "Maybe I can even help you with your troubles. You can tell me all about your life ."
But before Femi could finish his sentence, the enraged Krag lunged at him with a raw ferocity that seemed almost primal, his massive, ham-sized fist swinging in a brutal, crushing arc aimed squarely at Femi's skull.
Varga moved to intercept instantly, but the other Krag standing guard quickly blocked her path, their heavy bodies slamming together with a solid thud. Victim, Femi's little furry companion, who had been waiting anxiously at the forest's edge, darted forward and sank his sharp teeth into the attacking Krag's thick leg, while emitting a fierce, high-pitched growl.
Femi, however, had fully expected the reckless attack. He nimbly sidestepped the wild, blow, leaving the overcommitted Krag momentarily off-balance and vulnerable. Seizing the fleeting opportunity, Femi drew the sharp knife from his belt and slashed swiftly behind the Krag's knee, severing the tendons there. The Krag let out an agonized scream as his leg gave way and he collapsed heavily to his knees in the snow.
Without a moment's hesitation, Femi pressed the cold edge of his knife firmly to the Krag's exposed throat. The sharp blade gleamed wickedly in the flickering torchlight, a silent and deadly threat. The Krag froze completely, a flicker of genuine fear now in his wide eyes.
"Nobody moves a muscle," Femi warned the surrounding others, his voice cold and flat, leaving no room for doubt. "I don't particularly want to start killing anyone tonight, but I absolutely will if it becomes necessary."
The frigid night air was thick with tension as Femi stood there, his knife still clutched tightly in his hand, pressed against the kneeling Krag's throat. The other Krags froze in place, their expressions a volatile mix of shock and building fury, utterly unsure of what to do next.
Varga took a sharp, steadying breath and was about to say something, to try and defuse the situation, when..
...A massive, imposing form emerged from the shadowy corner of the camp, his sudden presence commanding an immediate and absolute silence. He moved with the quiet, unnerving authority of a seasoned warlord, his pure white cloak, crafted from the magnificent pelt of a rare dire wolf mutant, rippling behind him like a living, breathing thing.
The fur's silvered edges caught the dancing firelight, giving him an almost spectral, ethereal glow against the dark of the night. At his formidable side stood the ever-loyal Goruk, the blocky Krag's large hand resting casually on the worn haft of his massive two-headed axe, his dark eyes locked onto Femi with unblinking predatory interest.
Areius's cold, calculating gaze swept across the frozen group, lingering first on Femi, still holding his knife steadily to the Krag's vulnerable throat, then on Varga, her body held in a defensive stance despite her obvious and severe injuries, before returning with finality to Femi and the wounded Krag kneeling pathetically at his feet.
"What's going on here?" his voice was low and dangerously even, yet it carried a clear undercurrent of menace that made even the surrounding veteran warriors stiffen to attention.
Varga stepped forward with effort, her numerous injuries becoming more apparent under the harsh, flickering torchlight. The deep gash on her leg had begun weeping fresh blood, staining the wrappings crimson. "We only wanted to enter..." she began, her voice strained, but Areius's sharply raised hand instantly cut her off.
"You were late for an important meeting, Varga," he stated flatly, his voice still even but the menace underneath it grew more pronounced. "If you have no valid explanation, be prepared to face the consequences." His eyes, pale and cold as winter frost, bore into hers, demanding an answer. "What is your excuse?"
Varga took a deep, painful breath, her ribs protesting beneath bruised flesh. "We were ambushed by a Ebi Tara Buru while out hunting. We barely managed to fight the beast off, but then a band of goblins attacked immediately after, thinking we were easy, wounded pery, but we fought hard, killed them, and escaped. We're badly injured and desperately needed to see healer Goon." She paused forcing her voice to be steady. "But they stopped us here."
The boss's stern expression didn't change a fraction, but his tone turned icy cold. "So that's the reason your... pet," he said, pointing a finger directly at femi. "put a knife to the throat of one of my own warriors?" He let out a low, humorless chuckle, the sound sending involuntary shivers down everyone's spine. "That's an interesting, bold way to repay the hospitality offered to you... ratling."
He paused slowly surveying the tense scene. The wounded Krag panted at Femi's feet, his blood pooling in the snow. The other guards stood utterly rigid, silently awaiting their leader's orders.
"I have very few rules here," Areius continued, his voice returning to a calm that was more frightening than any shout. "No fighting within my camp. You obey my command without question. What you rightfully earn in honest battle is yours to keep." His piercing gaze settled heavily on Femi. "Simple, isn't it?"
His gaze then settled back on Femi, weighing him. "It seems there was a unfortunate misunderstanding regarding protocol. I'll let you off with just a warning this time, Varga." His eyes turned to her. "Go get your injury checked by the healer, and then come directly to meet me so I can inform you of our plan moving forward."
He turned his attention fully to Femi. "As for your... pet... here, I will not tolerate any further disrespect towards my loyal warriors. But since he was, technically, defending you, I'll grant him a light punishment." He paused for effect, his eyes glinting with a peculiar mixture of cold amusement and outright menace. "Two full days tied to the high pole, without food or water. That should be sufficient to teach camp etiquette."
Varga's nostrils flared in anger, but a slight shake of Femi's head and his steady gaze restrained her from protesting. "Don't," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. "I don't want a bigger problem, with the big man. If he wants to punish me, so be it. I'll endure it."
The leader nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with Femi's submissive response. "Good. Wise choice. Go get yourself checked by the healer, Varga and you, Femi... you will learn to respect the rules of this camp."
With that final decree, he turned on his heel and walked, disappearing into the camp, with Goruk falling into step dutifully at his side.
-----+-----
Even now, hanging in his perch, as he contemplated whether he was perhaps too quick to anger, a small part of him had to admit with all honesty that the fool below absolutely deserved his knife. He even had the gall to come again to harass and sneer at him, knowing full well Femi couldn't do anything to retaliate in his bound state. Despicable cowardice.
Though the bitter thought faded as another biting gust of wind whipped fiercely through the crowded camp, carrying the tantalizing, maddening scent of roasting meat from the distant cookfires. Femi's empty stomach growled in painful protest, but he stubbornly ignored it, focusing his sharp senses instead on the sudden commotion brewing down below.
Goruk's earlier teasing had been abruptly cut short by a sudden, organized flurry of activity all around them; Krags barked orders to one another, and the human helpers, scurried about like ants to arrange heavy crates into neat rows, and the loud clatter of approaching wagon wheels echoed against the sturdy wooden palisade walls.
"Eh, Sir Goruk, sir," Femi called down, his voice noticeably raspy from prolonged thirst and the cold air. "What's all the fuss going on?" He strained uselessly against the rough ropes binding him, trying to crane his neck for a better look. "Everyone's been unusually busy all morning long." The entire camp, a mix of Krag warriors and their human helpers, were all very busy indeed, a hive of purposeful motion.
Goruk folded his massive, arms across his chest. "Merchants," he rumbled in his deep baritone, not taking his eyes off the gate. "Human ones. Their scouts were spotted at dawn. Should be close now..."
"THEY'RE HERE!" A powerful shout erupted from the small wooden watchtowers near the main gates, confirming the news.
Goruk's smirk returned. "Speak and they shall appear."
Femi craned his neck as far as the ropes would allow. Beyond the opened gates, a sizable caravan slowly rolled into full view, a long line of wagons draped in garish, colorful fabrics, their worn axles creaking loudly under the evident weight of exotic and valuable goods. Armored men on horseback, looking stern and professional, flanked them protectively, their breastplates polished to a brilliant shine. One particular wagon, larger and heavier than all the rest, bore a curious sigil painted on its side: a single golden scale.
The lead merchant, a florid, man swaddled in a rich velvet doublet, waved a jovially "Greetings, friends! We bring the finest wares from the glorious southern cities!"
Femi's curiosity was piqued, his earlier woes momentarily forgotten, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of interesting opportunities, or perhaps profitable distractions, these newly arrived merchants might bring with them.