FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cajetan never had a high opinion of elves. He inherited that sentiment from his parents, refugees from Elsteron who had fled across the water to the sea power of Port Algool. They always spoke sourly of elves, and so did many of his friends.

So when work came to him by way of a knife-ear, he was hesitant. The Highmoores, a family of merchants and traders, contacted him through his fixer.

The pay was good, but the circumstances were not. His beneficent employers had gathered a motley crew. A simple-minded ogre, a sly little wren, a stalwart human, and an elf to watch over them all.

"A handler and some other select specialists will accompany you to the Elsteron-Gruulmok border. There, you will collaborate to reclaim an item of ours. You'll have the full cooperation of the locals, we assure you, and any resources you need aside."

“You're an essential portion of the operation," one had said softly, reclining in his seat and steepling his hands. “Your blood may hold the key to certain obstacles in Elsteron."

Each word the elves spoke were laden with vague superiority. Perhaps Cajetan was projecting, perhaps years of talking bad about elves made their accents sound like nails on glass. But he got the sense they cared very little if he lived or died. He objected to the notion of needing a handler, balking at it. The heavy bag of coins offered did a lot to help assuage his concerns.

He had left the initial meeting with a lukewarm disposition. But, curiosity nagged him. The details were so sparse, and the job was across the sea. And what did they need his blood for exactly?

He nearly didn't join the expedition, only last-minute pressure from his fixer ended his procrastination.

So with the promise of enough coin to cover him for a year, he set sail on a ship chartered by the Highmoores.

The sailing itself was nothing to write home about. Two weeks at sea with a bunch of sailors who were awful at cards and possessed of short tempers. After Cajetan had a knife drawn on him after a perfectly fair hand he told the lot of them to leap from the crow's nest and swore off any drinking or gambling with them.

That pricked at his temper, but he had a bit of sympathy for that sailor's friends. He couldn't imagine how insufferable it'd have been to sail with him for months. Cajetan would have thrown him overboard eventually.

Arrival at orcish shores was a welcome sight. The winds were calm, and the evening air ripe with summer's warmth. What breeze did flow landed kisses of cooling air to Cajetan's neck and cheeks as he made his way from the docks into the city proper. Cajetan eagerly brought himself to the meeting place that predescribed. An inn not too far from the docks called The Bitter Raven. A painted sign showed off the raven himself, sitting in profile. Eye red and squinted, beak dashed with a bit of color to mimic a blush.

The interior was nothing to speak of. Cramped with a bizarre variety of crates and barrels acting as impromptu tables. Swinging from overhead, tied in large nets were boxes and dry goods. Cajetan felt as though his skull could have been caved in at any moment what with the crates of Damocles creaking above him.

Some chandeliers competed with the cargo for ceiling space. With a dumbfounded look, Cajetan observed as the light from them was stifled by the ornaments blocking it.

Most of the patrons and wait staff were orcs, but there were a few others sprinkled in.

Easily three times as wide and nearly three heads taller, the biggest individual in the room was an ogre. Ogres weren't common where he grew up, and so he'd only heard secondhand of their stunning intellect and impeccable hygiene. This ogre looked like an exemplar of his species. Seeing as he was told an ogre would be on this job, Cajetan approached the slob.

The top of his head was covered in tufts of thin, black hair that was stiff with grease. At first, Cajetan thought the baldness was some unfortunate pattern but as he inspected closer he realized it was shaved that way with intent, stylistically.

The brute's skin was leathery and a bit wrinkly in odd places. It was rough with spots here and there, moles and sun spots. A sleeveless tunic of faded red provided him with a top, and the potent reek of unwash radiated from him. The scent smacked Cajetan across the cheek and he couldn't contain the expression of amused disgust that overcame him.

He noticed with a splendid chuckle that the ogre had been brought a crate to sit on to contain his massive girth, while more conventional chairs surrounded the rest of the table.

Approaching the beast from the back, Cajetan had the initiative of greeting. He chose to not surprise the giant lug from behind and made a wide berth around the table, rounding to his new companion's front side.

What he saw gave him pause, pause enough to lose all that initiative. The great ogre was counting his own fingers, tapping each digit with his chosen counter finger. His palm was the size of Cajetan's head, he had no doubt he could crush stones to powder with those mitts.

He noticed with a splendid chuckle that the ogre had been brought a crate to sit on to contain his massive girth, while more conventional chairs surrounded the rest of the table.

Approaching the beast from the back, Cajetan had the initiative of greeting. He chose to not surprise the giant lug from behind and made a wide berth around the table, rounding to his new companion's front side.

What he saw gave him pause, pause enough to lose all that initiative. The great ogre was counting his own fingers, tapping each digit with his chosen counter finger. His palm was the size of Cajetan's head, he had no doubt he could crush stones to powder with those mitts.

He looked up, and his glassy, dull brown eyes met with Cajetan's blues. "Allo, an' you muss be the alf then," the ogre said with a great, wide, jagged smile. Most of the teeth on the left side of his maxilla were conspicuously absent, leaving behind a jagged, misshapen row of yellowed remnants on the right. But that hideous, witless mug that giddily smiled back at him was far too sincere for Cajetan to rebuff.

"No elf, not me. I'm the man on this job. And you must be our muscle."

"Mushell? Oh nay, am an ogre. From down souf, is." He nodded, softly closing his eyes and nodding with serene, sagely aires. Such as an ogre could possess at least. "And you is? For me? I'm knowing as Rodwald." Rodwald laid a heavy, densely accent h alongside that r. His voice carried with it a deep rumble interrupted by phlegm and the density of his stupidity. He spoke slowly but matter-of-factly, not a hint of confusion to his words.

"Cajetan, a pleasure to meet you Rodwald."

"Cajee. Oh, please. Sure. Yeah. Right 'ungry am. Care for some nosh?"

Cajee snickered at the pronunciation of his name, pretty close. Close as an ogre could get and that was what counted. "Could go for a pint myself."

Rodwald smiled again, even toothier. "Now that's an idea, Cajee." He cleared his throat quite loudly, and waved his mitt toward a waitress. Orc women never caught Cajetan's eye often, but this one was different. If it weren't for her shaved head and long ponytail he'd have been happy to sheathe his sin sword in her, what with her fair light green skin and cute little tusks.

"Ah'll 'ave a bucket of 'em battahed crab legs, with the red sauce, please. And yer finest. Two of yer finest. Please. And thank you."

The waitress perked her eyebrow and looked to Cajetan for answers, who merely shrugged, stroking his cheeks and chin with a bit of detached thoughtfulness. The idea struck him that the ogre had the notion that 'your finest' was perhaps an amount.

"Crab legs, and two pints."

"Nay." He shook his head very solemnly and folded his arms. His ugly expression fell calmly flat, not a hint of upsetness or confusion, just a vaguely pleased mug. But he was silent. "Bigga than a pint."

"A quart glass?" the waitress suggested, to which she received an excited nod. "And you?" She looked to Cajetan.

"Oh, no, I'll stick to the pint."

"Come on, Cajee. 'ave a quart with the lad, will yah? It's all on me, mind."

Something about the earnest delivery made Cajetan chortle, suppressing a laugh. The ogre took no offense, merrily waiting for his reply, whittling away at his resistance with that placid expression.

"Fine. Two quarts then, suppose. Could you bring mine in a pitcher, reckon I'm liable to spill it on myself if it's in a big glass."

She nodded and went off.

"Oh, smart you are. Happens to me all the time. That spilling there."

Cajetan nodded, and after a moment, asked Rodwald how he came to join this expedition.

"Well, you see." He breathed in and paused. It was like he needed time to process, to dredge up the memory from the swamp of his cognition and finally, words spilled forth again, the sluice gate sealing in his foolishness let free. "Alf came and asked if I wanted to smash skellies. Skellies and a few undead things. Don't like them much, mean sort. So, Rodwald, me, says why not? Free meals, see a new place. Smash a few things."

"How much are you being paid?"

"Oh, paid," he suddenly seemed very proud. "All I can eat. And I can eat a lot." He slapped his gut with a sonorous belly laugh, his knee knocking the table and making it rattle. "And a nice place to sleep so long as we're working."

Cajetan thought a moment. Unless he ate a village's worth a day, this ogre was getting stiffed. Dangerous work for such a paltry reward? Rubbed him the wrong way, but he let it slide for now. Not like the ogre knew any better. He grinned to himself. If the ogre knew he was getting shafted, Cajetan wondered if he'd twist the elf's head off like a cap upon realizing it.

"Man, no alf. So no alf, and no birdie. Seen 'em?"

"I haven't, mate. Just yourself."

"That's Rodwald," he said with a wonderfully sure grin and bob of his head.

Conversation with Rodwald went about as fast as molasses sliding off a spoon. Cajee didn't care too much, he only paid it a little attention while he kept his eyes peeled for the rest of his cohort. Although it wasn't easy to get around his neck, the waitress had gotten Rodwald an apron to act as a bib and he was putting it through the ringer. Whatever that red sauce was bled into the white fabric of his bib, and dripped to the table from his fingers as he ate the crab claws shell and all.

The 'finest' brought to the table was of light color and hoppy taste. Rodwald seemed to like it, gulping it down in breathless sputters. Cajetan was happy to nurse a buzz with his drinking.

The sound of the inn door swinging open caught his ear. He had to rip himself from the wagon wreck that was Rod eating to look. The wren had arrived.

With a twitchy, observant eye, the wren soaked in the gloom of the inn. Splendid plumage of a royal blue ruffled out as he brought himself away from the doorway's light to the shroud of the interior. A bleak black streak of feathers formed his eyeline, ending somewhere in his crown. A fairer, paler blue formed his auricular.

His clothing spoke to his desert origins. Light, silken garb adorned amply with glittering medallions on the fringes. The black of the fabric was broken up with foreign sigils and paisley designs, sprawling across its surface and ending in the teardrop-like medallions across the breast hem and tunic's tails. Best of all, their small beak was shielded with a thin yashmak.

The baggy trousers did a little to hide the meat of his thighs but did nothing to conceal the junk of his trunk. The bird's ass was fat, and far beyond what Cajetan would expect on a male. Perhaps the wrens of the desert were built a bit different.

Cajetan raised up his arm and waved, which for some reason inspired Rodwald to do the same.

"Wot we wavin' for?"

"Our wren has arrived. I'm hoping to embarrass him and alert him to our position at the same time."

The wren paused, observing that others in the establishment were looking at him. And looking at the human and ogre looking at him. Objective accomplished.

The wren's feathers ruffled and he stormed over in a huff, trying to keep his beak down and head low. "So much for subtlety and discretion. What else could one expect from a human and... ogre." The wren pouted a moment, standing around the table without actually taking a seat.

"Will this one sit and introduce themselves?"

He rolled his eyes, realizing he was standing. Like a cat, he seamlessly transferred from an embarrassing fumble to cool and collected. It made the distinction all the more amusing to Cajetan.

"Am Rodwald," the ogre jutted his hand out to the diminutive bird for a shake. He was spurned.

"Okora. Arcanist, with a specialization in aerokinesis." The wren's voice had a soft grumble to it, he sounded like a woman with a husky voice more than a man. If not for the lack of bust, Cajetan would've wondered. The wren unclipped his face mask and folded it away into a pocket.

"And dressed like a harem dancer." He snorted a laugh, "I'm Cajetan. Nice to meet you."

Okora turned his head, pointing his beak at Cajetan, tilting his head to get the man within the scope of one of his eyes. "And you look like a dock worker. These garments are common where I hail from."

"Relax, I'm just breaking your balls. You have those, don't you?"

Okora rolled his eyes and turned away, looking between his two new associates. "Anything from our handler? The elf hasn't shown themselves yet?"

"No leaf munchers yet," Cajetan said.

"How creative, will you call me a seed muncher?"

"Not sure yet, do you swallow seed or spit?"

Okora grumbled and tilted his beak up with indignance, looking down at the smirking human. "You come on a little thick, don't you?" The bite in the word 'thick' tickled Cajetan's ear.

The human dragged his eyes with intent across what he could see of Okora's figure as if to highlight the boy's voluptuous features.

"You're incorrigible." He waved his hand dismissively. "Better men than you have tried so just lay off."

Cajetan put up his hands in defeat to signal him backing off. "Far from home, feather-face, how come you took a job all the way out here?"

Rodwald, with little to add and less to think about, blankly stared into the middle distance between them. The sloppy sounds of Rod eating set a background to Okora's moment of silence. Finally, the wren spoke, "The coin was good, and putting some distance between me and home suited me well."

"The plot thickens. Some strife back there?"

"That's all you're getting. What about yourself? Some desire to return home? Elsteron is human clay, so I'm told."

"Wormbrain clay now, but yeah. No particular patriotism, not from me. I grew up far from it. Just the money."

"Though we did specifically request you," a female voice interrupted suddenly. Cajetan felt a presence behind him that triggered his natural, aggressive response. He whipped his head around, all ready for a brawl, but was met with a slender and black-clad elf.

She was tall, taller than the man and the bird but shorter than their ogre. Her features clashed against the black dyed leather and cloth, alabaster and pallid. The dark circles under her eyes were broken up by the veins just barely visible under the skin. Her ears, long and pointed up, were angled just like her ponytail.

"Tirah. And you are Cajetan, Okora, and Rodwald."

"Am Rodwald." The ogre gave a thumbs up.

"Tirah? Tirah the knife?" Okora asked with a surprised gasp. Cajetan gave the magician a look, examining that impenetrable again face for any details.

"Yes, but it's a bit presumptuous to introduce one's self with their nom de guerre."

"One is smart to refrain from such. Excuse my surprise but we hadn't been told who our handler would be."

"One likes using 'one', don't we?" Cajetan cut in, looking between the other two.

"If two ones say they're ones, then... are they twos?" Rodwald asked, his ears nearly giving off smoke with how hard he was currently thinking.

Ignoring that, Okora explained a bit. "Tirah's quite a famous blade. Plenty of rumors about her sneaking ability. Plenty of rumors about who she's killed and what she's stolen. If even half of them are true we're in good hands." The wren's lips curled into a sly grin as he cast a glance at the elf, a glimmer of admiration shining in his eyes.

Tirah tilted her head, offering gracefully withdrawn acknowledgement of the praise. Cajetan wasn't as impressed. An elven backslider didn't inspire confidence in her leadership abilities.

"The Highmoores thought a rogue element such as yourself should lead us?"

"Of course. Only I know our exact destination."

"And where exactly is it?" Rodwald chimed in.

Tirah regarded him, and his stench, for a second. The wrinkle of her nose brought mild amusement to the other two, now they were all companions in this shared, offensive struggle.

"Past the Gruulmok border, one of the branches of the River Gend. An old prison known as Sinner's End."

"Inviting name," Okora said with disdain.

"To fetch an item, as I understand it. They were a little reserved on what they chose to tell me when I signed on. Could the mighty Tirah perhaps illuminate me?" Cajetan looked from Okora to Tirah. The mage was drawing his eye, even if all he got was a side-eye in return.

"An item of great value and dangerous ability, yes. The objective must be returned to the Highmoores. As for the potential dangers, there are some obvious ones with going past the border into Elsteron. Aside from the undead, there could be other forces at work there."

"Brute strength." Okora looked to Rodwald, who smiled idiotically. He touched his own chest. "Mastery of magic. You bring the subtle qualities of an elf. But what exactly does he bring?"

Catejan snorted and crossed his arms.

Tirah, plainly but firmly put Okora in his place. "Without his blood, none of this would be possible. He's a son of Elsteron, even if he's never set foot on its soil. What's more, he's got many abilities the undead would be loath to come across." The tone of the elf's voice had his plumage laying flat to his sleek body, even if she wasn't chiding him.

"A paladin?"

"Better. A grail knight. Well... ex-grail knight," Cajetan cut added in defense of himself.

Okora's stout beak opened and closed again as he chewed on that little tidbit.

"Why did you quit?"

"You search fruitlessly for a cup, living off the alms of others, for a few years, and tell me if you'd like to continue."

"Fair." Okora's tone and expression shifted, still recovering from that information but already regarding Catejan with a bit more respect and admiration. He savored that, he may be a salacious ruffian but he was a respectable ruffian.

Tirah barked for the waitress and ordered a bottle of stiff drink and several shot glasses. The sight of them gave Rodwald the most splendid idea.

"New friends, how's about a bit of nevah have I evah? Played?"

Cajee was blown away that the ogre could fathom the rules of such a complex game. There was a bit of apprehension to the elf and wren, but the grail-knight couldn't leave his low-intellect friend hanging. He raised his shot.

"A swell idea, Rod. I can warm us up. Never have I ever been to Elsteron."

Okora smiled, Rod guffawed, but Tirah's ears twitched. She regarded her shot a second but the game was already up. Cajetan perked his eyebrows up.

"Would you look at that, I feel a lot more confident knowing our handler has some first-hand experience."

She grumbled and knocked back her shot. "Tsk. Suppose I'll go next then, yes? Never have I ever spent a night in a jail cell."

Rod and Cajee roared a chuckle and knocked their glasses together, mutually draining a shot.

"Nevah have I evah won at evah nevah."

No one understood, and thus no one drank.

Okora fiddled with his shot, tilting the glass or rotating it.

"Well, caster, it's your go," Cajetan urged on, nudging him.

The wren shot him a look as if to warn him of any further prodding, but the human wouldn't be deterred.

"What haven't I done? Oh. Never have I ever shot a bow."

Tirah drank at once.

"Does a crossbow count?"

"Yes," Okora said with a smug nip to his affirmation.

"Bastard." Cajetan drank too.

"Never have I ever worn ladies' clothes," the human bit back, staring right at Okora with a clownish grin.

If the wren could blush he would, turning his beak up again and finally crumbling, drinking. Tirah held onto her glass a moment and tried to plead how unfair that was, only to be told to pipe down.

The game went on, and as the buzz began to develop among those with brains, the brainless fourth tapped out. "S'all for me, can't do another drop," Rodwald spoke with a grumbling affect, rising from his seat slowly and woozily.

Cajetan held his breath a moment, sure the ogre was about to fall over and flip the table on his way down. But the giant oak of a beast kept straight and upright. Tirah had the good sense to request the aid of a nearby waitress to guide him to his room. The sounds of his weight making the stairs groan in pain were audible across the room and drew a few eyes.

The rounds between those that left became a lot looser, and more of a natural conversation than a game. 'Never have I's lead into questions, questions into tales or jokes, and a right affinity was building. The fact she could open up and joke a bit gave Cajetan a lot more faith in their 'handler', as awful a title as that was for the elf to bear.

Okora's eyes began to linger on Cajetan a little, between rounds and as the three of them spoke and got familiar. It felt good, getting the attention of this strange, foreign avian, and he basked in it. He puffed his chest out a bit and kept his posture proud.

"Never have I sucked cock," Tirah declared, with a bit of pride.

Cajetan, who was leaning back in his chair, came down to the ground with such vigor he nearly toppled himself over. "What?" He croaked in disbelief.

Tirah ignored him, rather, pointing with accusation at Okora, "He drank!"

Cajetan's head whipped around to see it, and truly the wren was pouring himself another shot. A sort of tired, grumbling look overcame his beak with which Cajetan felt himself gain life from.

"Suppose it's my go then," Okora said coolly, trying to move past that. The others let it slide with an amused exchange of glances, and the game went on.

Eventually, it was time for Cajetan, and seeking a little laugh, he offered, "I completely forgot what I was going to say. But I remembered a question. Tirah, when were you in Elsteron?"

Both he and Okora were surprised to see Tirah hesitate. Her hand hovered over her glass and she tried to pull back. But the sluggishness of a buzz had shown her cards already.

"An unpleasant trip, then?" Cajetan's expression wasn't one of amusement. Rather, his eyebrows were perked and eyes focused, watching Tirah closely.

Tirah took her drink, keeping her eyes down and away from the gaze of the human. The elf's thin, pale face didn't have any reserved amusement, but rather fear and uncertainty. She was thinking of that place, and thinking of that first-hand experience, as she stared into the wood grain of the table. She resolved to quietly stand and retire to her room.

Okora and Cajetan bid the elf good night, not pressing the issue. But now it was them exchanging the glance, and a mutual understanding developed.