A First Time for Everything

[Hall of Voices]

The woman tapped her foot on the ground as she leaned against the cold wall. The architecture is sure lovely, Sarala thought gazing around. Crow had flown from his perch to pester the General along with the human, elf, and the orc with the bow she'd seen earlier to see if there was any extra information at all. She overheard something about the things the soldiers would supply, food and straw stuffed mats that folded up nice and small. The orcan archer mentioned he had a large hunting bag he carried around to store game, and that is brother tyoically carried it. They could keep the supplies inside.
There was quite an odd menagerie of folks interested in checking out an abandoned hold, even after reports of something living there surfaced.

The other orc, clad in some fine leather armor stood with his back to the group, admiring the plaques and weapon mounts with humor. History of battles and folklore regarding the village and the lands around it.

Sarala found herself walking up beside the tall fellow, not even a shred of fear phasing her. Most were downright terrified of orcs.
"Whatcha findin'?" She crossed her arms to match him. He glanced over briefly before looking back.

"I find the human's way of remembering things similar to that of those in my hold. Using physical pieces, like the sword of a general," he jabbed a thumb in the direction of another mount. "We keep our memories close to our hearts and take them as warning, but I never thought us and the humans could be anywhere near similar. What are your thoughts on the war?" He looked to the woman with curiosity.

She scoffed. "I'm not much into politics, but I know I didn't have a side. Not really a fighter so I took my own, in a way. Your people chose not to fight at all, right? I respect that."

He smiled now, much to her surprise, but she felt a grim sensation as well. "You'd be the first."

The orcs of the Iron Fort had much scrutiny on their backs after they refused to join the war. It was an incredibly risky move but it did not involve them, and they knew not to meddle in outer affairs. Sure, it would've been morally good to help out your own side in a war, but they didn't care about morals regarding the outer plains. Now they were seen as selfish because of the countless lives they could've saved with their military power, and wearing the crest was a cry for bad attention.

As she admired the print on his leather, he continued speaking. His voice was like a subtle rumble of thunder, deep but nothing sinister. A scratch within it seemed as if he had strained his voice far too many times.
"What does a non-fighter want to do on a dangerous trek into a place like Stonehall? I thought all you humans cared about was war and greed."

"I mean," she stumbled to find a reason that didn't sound childish, silly. "Pure wonder. I want to know whats up there just as much as the next person, probably even more. A so-called hunger for knowledge and living for the adventure," she chuckled. "Telling tales of swashbuckling pirates or magical beasts soaring high in the sky. I'm decent enough with blades, dueling... But that's it, really. If that's greed in some form consider me a sinner. I know I'm not the most valuable asset but--" she paused a moment in thought. She could go on an on about her abilities, like her exploration and navigation, even if they seemed slim to most. She was proud of them and who she was, and quite clearly unafraid of judgement mostly because she refused to judge others too harshly. Like this orc.

"They say curiosity killed the cat, but I think it just made it brighter. Besides, if it has nine lives, I'm sure finding eight truths wouldn't hurt all that much."

He seemed to take massive interest in this, shifting his body toward her. "You speak with such meaning, so openly too. I'd be glad to hear more of that during our travels."

He held a large hand out in greeting.

"Glasgoh Shailwin."

"Sarala Daya," she took it with a prideful smile.

Make friends, check.

-----
[Village/Dawson's Healing Works]

The twins staggered along, Starri getting weaker by the moment. Yrsa had to prop him up, arm slung around her shoulder. They had asked around for any healers, and when they were told of a temple and priestesses, Yrsa let out an aggravated grunt.

"Any actual healers? With medicines?"

"Check the Healing Works, building covered in ivy that way." A kind older fellow instructed.

With that Yrsa dragged her brother along despite his efforts. If he was gonna be saved it sure as hell wasn't gonna be by some witches. Magic only brought trouble, trickery, and tension, and they weren't having any of that.
As soon as they approached the quaint looking shop, the door was almost bust open, slamming back on the wooden wall.
A thin, short haired woman jumped startledly behind the counter, her brown eyes twinkling with something between fear and excitement. She rounded the corner upon seeing the situation.
"Oh my gods," Gemma came to Starri's aid but hesitated to touch him.

"Heal him," Yrsa demanded as they propped Starri onto the wooden bench in the corner.

"I-I'm no physician... I don't deal with emergencies."

"You'd do better than most." Yrsa eyes were cold and piercing into her's as they made contact, unintentional but purposeful at the same time.
Starri groaned as he moved his bloodied hands from the wound, the woman kneeling down to see him. Sweat was beading on his forehead and small chills surged through his body once in a while. A slight fever perhaps? Gemma did her best to observe his wound but sighed in aggravation.

"I can't help him with his shirt on. I need to remove it."

Yrsa stopped her urgent panicking momentarily to lock eyes with her brother, who nodded in permission, and she returned it to the woman. Yrsa lifted the fur cape off of his shoulders, then the chestplate. Before long, and without thought, his shirt came off too and Gemma ran to scrub her hands clean. She grabbed a plethora of bottles and small containers off of the shelves and returned to them both.

"Let's begin, shall we?" She spoke with unease.

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