Run out of a village again.
Durga growled in annoyance, kicking a rock as she trudged on over to a fallen, rotting tree and sat on the broad trunk, which creaked beneath her. She could breathe again, finally, now that the village was miles behind her with no signs of pursuers, but gods! Humans. She hated them!
With a huff, she slung her pack off her shoulder and to the ground. It was a lie, of course. She didn't hate anyone, but she was sure as hell frustrated that they all seemed to hate her. She had more luck some places than others, and she supposed it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the stupid, backwater, mountain pass town would be full of stupid, backwater, ignorant people.
Pushing back her sleeve, she glowered down at the wrapped gash on her forearm. It was a deep wound; the woman that had slashed her had caught her unprepared while she'd warded off the other angry townsfolk. Blood had soaked the makeshift bandage, but the bloodstain hadn't spread any further, so hopefully that meant it was done bleeding. With a sigh, she started to unwrap it so she could wash and tend it properly, instead of the hurried job she'd done while...well...
Fleeing.
The stench of blood drove Motark onwards as he brought his spear down, missing his mark on the dire boar. His spear made a gash down its side as he grazed the beast. It continued to retreat, smaller spears spiking off from its hide as it crashed through the shrubbery. Motark took a second to recover and pull his spear from the ground before continuing to run after him.
Behind him, his huntmate orcs gave chase as well, sounding off hunting horns and hollering.
Dire boar hunts, despite their violence, were Motark's favorite pastimes. There was something so releasing about it all, the satisfacfion of consuming his kill after overcoming it.
The boar crashed from the trees and onto the road, almost a hundred feet from Durga, thrashing and flailing in a pain-fueled frenzy. Shortly after it, Motark, in all his sweaty, muscle-bound glory, lept from the devastated treeline and landed the final blow. He stabbed the titanic boar into the ground, the final few spurts of blood spackling his chest and face.
He rose from his knees as his breathing slowed back down, oblivious to Durga's presence at first. After a few more seconds however, he turned his head over to her.
And just looked.
There came a crashing sound--a loud crashing sound, a sound that wasn't made by something small like a deer or wolves, but something big. Something big enough to tear down trees. Birds took flight in droves, crying out a warning, and leaves fluttered into the air as trees and bushes were knocked down and uprooted. Well, shit. Wasn't this just her day?
With a litany of curses, Durga closed the wrappings back around her forearm an reached for her mace as she rose to her feet--
Right as a wounded dire boar came crashing from the woods, the source of the chaos, Durga hefted her mace as she prepared to strike the beast.
Of course, before she could, an ORC of all bloody things came leaping out to kill the thing in one fell swoop!
SHIIIIIIT.
Normally hot-blooded and hot-headed, Durga's blood turned to ice as he looked at her. She had never met an orc--a real orc. Or even a half-orc like her! But she knew all about them. No one anywhere had spared the details, and though her parents knew nothing about her parents and hadn't made any assumptions about the situation, when Durga was old enough, she'd been able to make her own assumptions about the nature of her parents' relationship. Orcs were bad. No one anywhere had made any pretense that they weren't. She got reminded of it everywhere she went, as people focused on the orc in her and not the human, as she was run out of towns at worst and the subject of muttered insults behind her back at best.
They were savages. Monsters.
Durga snarled at him, mace still raised. "Stay away from me!"
It took Motark a few moments to take in the sight of Durga. Definitely orcish, but there was something just off about her. It was in her scent, mostly.
As she took him in as well, he rose to his feet. He wasn't wearing his armor for this hunt, so he wore little more than a hardened leather kilt. His titanic frame, ensconced in a layer of diamond-hard muscles, towered about a foot higher than Durga. In build, he was also much more physically imposing.
His mind was snapped back to the present when Durga raised her mace at him, calling for him to stay back. His eyes widened a little bit, and he raised a hand and held it up, palm out.
"You need to go," he said in his thickly accented common. His face held no barbarism or savagery or rage. Just concern.
"quick, before the others arr--"
The rest of his hunting party arrived after him, six more or so orcs. These were more or less around Durga's size, and they all carried shields and spears. The shields were emblazoned with their clan symbol, a leering red sun. They all started when the saw Durga, taking positions alongside Motark and raising their weapons.
A few hoisted javelins up into a ready position.
Motark's face went from concerned to distrustful, a change that seemed a bit forced on his part. Motark spoke up again.
"You tresspass on Red Sun hunting grounds. To what tribe do you belong, outsider?"
Eh?
Durga's eyebrows raised when he spoke. She hadn't really expected him to be capable of speech at all, but had rather expected him to communicate through grunts and growls or something, since orcs were supposed to be just mean and stupid. But his expression surprised her more. That wasn't a look of savagery, but...softness? Concern?
And those words weren't a threat, but a warning.
...Da fuck?
Before she could fully process the situation, or even begin to flee yet again (fuck her life, chased away by humans on one side and orcs on the other!), more orcs burst from the woods.
And the original orc's expression changed.
Was he acting?
Her heart beat faster at the sight of them all, weapons brandished, and against one orc she might have a chance, but against seven?
Double SHIIIIIIT.
She gripped her mace tighter, squared her shoulders, and spaced her feet apart. Her brows lowered in a glare and she lifted her chin, lip curling with distaste. "I'm not part of any tribe. I'm a free woman," she snapped. "I'm just trying to get the fuck off this stupid mountain away from all those idiot bastards back thattaway." She thrust her thumb in the direction of the town behind her. "That's it. I'll be out of your hair in no time."
The orcs looked among each other. The smaller orcs spoke to Motark in their tribal dialect, and Motark kept his gaze locked onto her. Eyes soft, face hard.
One of the lesser orcs pointed at her, and Motark snarled at him. The orc retreated, and Motark took a few steps forward and slid his axe up out of the small leather loop that kept it buckled to his belt.
"You're coming with us, clanless one. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
Oh fuck no.
If there was one rule Durga lived by, it was never surrender. Her life had been one of challenges, and she'd met each one head on, without backing down or shirking difficulties. And if there was one truth she knew, it was that those who were taken by the enemy were seldom seen again, and didn't live long. The moments they did live, she'd heard, were painful.
This was especially true of what she'd learned of orcs. Murderers, baby-eaters, rapists, thieves, the lot of them. They ate human flesh and delighted in pain and blood.
Like hell she was going quietly! She'd heard they hated half-orcs just as much as humans, and she certainly knew that aside from blood and some looks, she had nothing in common with the monsters!
...She prayed.
"Fuck THAT!" she snarled, and adjusted her grip on her mace. "I'm not going anywhere with you! You want a piece of this? You're gonna have to carve it out of my cold, dead body, because I will FUCK. YOU. UP."
Motark bristled, his inferiors looked up at him. He tightened his fists, and dropped his axe.
He held his hand out, and an orc dropped a club in his hands, a straight bumpy wooden stick. He smacked it onto his hand a few timed, lifting the shield up off his back and hoisting it onto his arm.
He narrowed his eyes, and his orcs looked ready once again.
"Last chance."
Durga scowled at him, even as the blood pounded in her ears. Was he really crazy enough to think she'd turn herself in?
...Then again, probably, because it was a downright crazy move to fight, too. She knew there was no way she could win this.
No way she could win a battle, that is.
She glared at him, defiance and determination in her eyes--
And then spun abruptly on her heel and ran, down the path a ways before bolting off the path and into the thick woods, mace still firmly in hand. Because fuuuuuck that! She didn't like running, but she happily made exceptions for cases like this!
Motark was ready to go, yet his stance remained neutral. He knew surrender was something that probably wasn't going to happen, but it was the best option. He didn't want to fight her, but if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate. At least then, he could control how much she was hurt. He had to uphold his territory, show he wasn't a pushover!
But running?
Well, that left him very little choice. As soon as Durga bolted away, the three orcs throwing javelins loosed them, while Motark and his remaining hunting partners gave chase. Durga might have been the smaller, more maneuverable runner, but Motark had pure power and athleticism on his side, something Durga could never match in her state.
Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit!
First chased around by humans, now chased around by orcs! The fuck was with this day?! Why did both sides of her existence want to kill her?! Durga ran for all she was worth, though she was a bit slower than usual from the exhaustion that came with blood loss. Her stupid wound had bled a lot before she'd been able to safely bandage it, and she was feeling the effects of that now.
She was still fast, though she could hear the orcs gaining. She leaped over fallen trees, crashed through bushes, and shoved branches out of her way in the hopes that they'd at least smack some of her pursuers and--
She crashed through a thick bush--and came to a skidding halt when, on the other side of it, was a sheer drop down.
Motrak's pursuit was relentless, and it was clear that he knew these woods far better than Durga ever could. His powerful frame shrugged off loose branches and his feet pulverized any large twigs or roots brave enough to stand in his way.
His huntmates weren't that far behind him, but Motark had a considerable lead.
When they came to the small clearing with the sheer drop, Motark stopped right at the edge of the vegetation, glancing behind him. He looked back to Durga, eyes filled with an unexpected urgency.
"You need to surrender!"
Durga was still cursing her luck when the beast came charging into the clearing with her, and she whirled around to face him--and paled. Still she bared her teeth and lifted her mace, squaring her stance and standing taller.
"Stay the fuck back!"
Motark tightened the grip on his own club, able to smell Durga's uncertainty. Behind him, the glinting eyes of his huntmates betrayed their presence.
"I don't think so."
He flexed his shoulders, and advanced.
Swearing, Durga took another step back--and swore venomously again when her heel hit open space. She swayed, arms windmilling, but caught her balance before she could pitch over the edge.
"Stop!" she snapped again, growing desperate. "I'll...I'll fucking jump! Don't even test me, motherfucker!"
Motark snorted
"Go ahead, trespasser. There's a deep river at the bottom. You look like a potent warrior, you'll survive the fall."
He set his eyes on her, still silently begging her to just surrender.
"That is, if I don't catch you."
Durga glared at him, eyes narrowing to slits. If there was a river at the bottom, and a deep one, she might have a chance at losing them. Of course, that was if she survived. Even if the water was deep, the impact when she hit the water's surface could be enough to kill her. And that was assuming the water was deep in all parts of the river, including specifically where she landed. But her choices were either stay here and get caught for sure, or do the crazy thing and maybe have a chance?
Maybe he didn't think she'd do it.
And so, holding his eyes defiantly, she stepped back and off the edge.
Motark held her stare back at her.
There was, in fact, a river at the bottom of the cliff, a river which was certainly deep enough to accomodate her. The cliff itself, although intimidating, was actually not all that high, as well. The gray coloration of the stone, mixing with the shadows cast by the angled sun, made the ravine appear deeper than it actually was.
If she knew how to dive into water, the fall wouldn't kill her.
However, it was hideously unlikely that she would remain conscious.
Motark's eyes widened slightly, both terrified for Durga and impressed that she would take the step off the cliff rather than surrender. He pounced forwards, and tried to grab Durga's armor around the collar.
Oh, he grabbed her collar, alright. Right in the nick!
And Durga, already committed to the crazy thing, already committed to not being taken, did the crazier thing.
She grabbed him around the neck and pulled, hoping to topple him over the edge with her.
If she was going down, he was going with her. She was not going back with him!
Unfortunately for Durga, pulling on Motark's head, especially from her position of zero leverage, was barely effective. Bringing his full strength to bear, he pulled Durga up and away from the edge, tossing her behind him and towards his huntmates.
Immediately, she was surrounded, spears all pointed at her.
Durga landed with a grunt and rolled to a stop, and when she went to scramble to her feet--
She froze, because all those spears were pointed right at her.
"...Fuck," she breathed, and slowly raised her hands in surrender, letting the mace fall to the ground.
"I told you to surrender. Now? We do this the hard way," Motark said as he approached her. Still brandishing his club, however it was back to that neutral position. His huntmates didn't speak common, so he could at least get a few words in. They did, however, force her up onto her knees.
"I know it's confusing, I'll explain when you wake up."
He barked out an order in Orcish, and the orc behind her brought the haft of his spear down on the back of her head.
When Durga did wake up, she had the worst headache of her life. Like the worst hangover of her life, but doubled. With a groan and a cough, she cracked her eyes open and blinked blearily, disoriented and confused and blurry-eyed. A slight wriggle revealed her wrists and ankles were bound, and that she was stretched out onto her side on the ground.
For a moment, she was puzzled, and wondered what the hell she'd been up to the night before.
But then it all came back to her, slowly through the haze of pain. Oh, she'd been up to something crazy, alright. But not something fun. The last thing she remembered was being surrounded by so many spears and then...
"...Fuck!"
With a start, she struggled to try to sit up, but her head throbbed and her stomach lurched, and it was all she could do to turn over and vomit.
Durga didn't know this, but she was laying in none other than Motark's tent. Her blurry eyes and frazzled vision kept almost all of the details away from her, but the tent was extremely spacious. The whole thing was split in half, with one being Motark's private quarters, and the other half being his throne room. Both sides were separated by a wall of fabric, accessible via a slit.
Motark's private quarters were as lavishly furnished as a tribal orc could get. Countless trophies of war, various beast skulls, and masterfully crafted weapons all adorned the walls. Light came from a ball of illumination, floating at the very top and providing comfortable, even lighting in the room. The floor, including the section Durga was laid out on, was covered almost entirely in comfortable furs.
Fortunately, she just so happened to vomit in a clear spot.
Motark himself was seated in front of the fireplace, facing away from her. Once she stirred, though, he took notice.
"Oh, good. You're awake," he said in his shaky common.
"How's the head?"
Durga's head was swimming, and her vision was still fuzzy, so she didn't notice the orc until he spoke.
Jerking in surprise, she twisted to look at him, and her eyes widened and then narrowed in fear and anger. How's the head, he asked. How's the head? Was he for real? Was he mocking her? She'd gotten knocked out by an orc! And she knew from experience that it took a hell of a powerful blow to know her out.
"What the fuck do you think?" she snapped, words slightly slurred.
"Still dazed, then."
He stood up and stretched, gigantic joints popping. Stepping on over to an aggressively carved table, he filled a bowl that had been sitting there with the contents of a small clay bottle.
"Do you want medicine?"
Medicine? What in the...?
Durga scowled, shooting him a withering glower. "I want you to tell me what the shit's going on!" she growled, and yanked at her bonds, kicking her feet ineffectively. "Just lemme go! I ain't no threat to your stupid clan or whatever!"
"Clan tensions are high. I couldn't take chances."
He swished the contents of the bowl around, and looked over to Durga.
"My people have high expectations of me, too. I... Look."
He sighed.
"I didn't want to do this, but I had to."
Exhausted already from that brief struggle with her head still spinning, Durga flopped back with a gasp, panting for breath and closing her eyes as she waited for the world to stop tilting. Finally, she cracked them open again and looked at the blurred figure that was the orc.
"What's...this?" she demanded, forcing the words out despite the growing knot of fear in her throat. She'd spent her life being the biggest and baddest gal in any given area, towering over most men, even, and more than capable of bashing their heads in with a punch! She was used to being able to protect herself, used to feeling strong and capable and intimidating. This was something new, something she didn't know how to handle: being at someone else's mercy.
"What're you gonna do with me?"
And not just anyone's mercy, but an orc's. She knew all about what orcs did to people, and her parents had warned her that being half orc didn't make her any safer. Not at all.
"Well, by 'this', I meant capture you. I was sorely tempted to let you go, but I have appearances to keep, and a tribe to keep safe."
He set the bowl down, and took a crude knife off of the table.
"I'm going to cut you loose. Don't try anything."
Durga stiffened at the sight of the knife, but she knew better than to disobey the orc with the bloody knife. She held perfectly still, scarcely breathing. "So, what? you captured me so...now what?"
"I don't know, really..."
He sawed at her wrist binding until it gave, and moved over to her legs so he could start on those.
"I know I can't just let you free."
As soon as her hands were free, Durga used them to hold her head and groan. This was...what was even happening right now. She was having a civil conversation with an orc, is what. Maybe this was a dream or something. Didn't orcs communicate through grunts and punches and murder?
"Fucking fantastic," she grumbled, the world still swaying around her even though she was holding perfectly still, making her stomach pitch and churn. "What the fuck's up with you? Shouldn't you be like murdering me? How the fuck do you even know Common? What kinda orc are you? Like, are you fucking with me?"
"It's... complicated. Frankly, I should be murdering you. But..."
He cut her legs free, and sat down in front of her, all cross-legged, and took the bowl of medicine from the table, holding it out to her.
"It's a very long and complicated story."
With the bowl held out to her, Durga grunted and forced herself to sit upright. It was clear she was currently no threat to him; even if she thought punching him was a wise idea, she was woozy enough that it'd be like a kitten punching a wall. She could hardly turn her head without feeling like she was going to sick up, much less think about fighting.
She took the bowl in one hand and rubbed the back of her head with the other, and she sipped at it quickly. She wasn't stupid enough to be paranoid about poison. They wouldn't have gone through so much effort to take her alive only to poison her. That would be stupid.
"Explain," she said between sips.
Motark nodded.
"I'm the inheritant to the Bloodspear dynasty. I rule over the Red Sun clan as my father before me, and as his father before him. You're sitting in the very center of the largest Orc clan in the region."
He cracked his neck a few times.
"I might carry the bloodline, but I am not like my father. The Red Sun clan is violent, and I don't want that for my people. However, they look up to me for strong leadership. They look up to me, and see the deadliest warrior in thair history. They want war, and sacrifices, and celebrations. Not peace."
Durga fixed him with a blank look, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.
"...You're telling me you're a peace-loving orc," she said. It was half question, half flat statement, delivered tonelessly.
Motark rubbed the back of his head, ear flicking away a fly.
"Well, it's more complicated than that, but... Yes, I suppose that's the short answer."
Durga heaved a sigh.
"But you have to look tough. Uh. So beat me up and lemme go with a stern warning? I'll act properly cowed."
"That's not how things work around here, unfortunately. You're a trespasser and outsider, in a time where all the clans are tense with each other. Wrong place, wronger time."
He glanced back to the fire, to make sure it was still safely smoldering.
"I don't know how long you'll have to be here."
Well, shit. Durga was not liking where this was going.
"...Look the other way and I'll sneak the fuck out?"
Motark shook his head.
"It's not likely. And if the guards catch you, I won't be able to help you."
"Then...what?" Durga said, sighing with frustration. "What do I do in the meantime? Just...live with you?"
"I know, it's not exactly the best, but I'll try to make it as comfortable for you as I can, okay?"
He put his hand on her shoulder.
"It's the least I can do."
Durga jerked away from his touch. She still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. This was too bizarre, and there had to be something going on that she hadn't yet spotted. "And everyone's gonna be okay with me just...being here?"
"No. You're a prisoner, under my watch. That's what the tribe thinks."
He rubbed his face, letting out a tired sigh.
"Really, that just means you'll be spending most of your time around me."
Durga gulped down the rest of the medicine, set the bowl aside, and flopped back down with a groan. "Greeeeeat..."
Motark, after spending a couple of seconds in awkward silence, stood up, and sat at the table.
Her head was starting to feel better, but her brain was aching now for a different reason. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Just live with some damned orcs for a while? Believe that this guy was some noble savage that wasn't going to fry her up later or sacrifice her to some evil god? Durga supposed she should be more grateful that he'd given her medicine and hadn't killed her, but it also seemed ridiculous to her to be grateful for being taken prisoner.
"I can't be your prisoner forever," she said at last, sitting up with a scowl.
Motark sighed, and nodded.
"You won't be. Once we get the chance, I'll see that you're taken away."
Durga's eyebrows shot clear to her hairline at that, her muscles going tense. "Taken away?"
"Well, yes. Taken away from here."
He joined his hands on the table.
"Traveling alone through Orc territory's dangerous. You might have an escort."
"Who would escort me? Another orc?" Durga asked, frowning.
Motark nodded.
"Probably."
Durga raked her hands through her long hair and huffed out another frustrated sigh. She didn't like any of this, but...it was definitely better than, you know, murder. Still, it was nerve-wracking! How "safe" could she be in an enemy camp full of bloody orcs! Orcs that hated her! For she heard orcs hated half-bloods as much as humans hated them. Fuck that shit. It wasn't like she could choose her bloody parents!
"Don't orcs hate half-orcs?" she said at last. "Who's to say that one wouldn't put an axe in my spine?"
"You're a half-blood?" Motark said, turning around in his seat. He looked her up and down, as if trying to affirm her statement.
"If you are, your human side's pretty weak. I had you pinned for an orc."
That made Durga blink in surprise. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Wait. Is that why everyone was all...hating on me? 'Cause you thought I was from some other orc tribe?"
She barked a laugh at that, a nervous one, but still amused. "I'm not an orc! I'm half-human! Totally half-human! I was raised by bloody half-elves! Does that change matters at all?"
"Well, yes. Tensions are the highest they've ever been. It's a dangerous time to be moving through orc territory."
Motark crossed his arms.
"Why does being raised by half-elves matter?"
"Because I'm the furthest thing from an orc! In breeding AND upbringing!"
Motark smiled.
"Could've fooled me."
Durga raked both hands through her hair in agitation. "Well, I still know nothing about your goddamned feuds and wars and I frankly don't give a shit! I'm a neutral party!"
"And I don't give a shit either!" Motark said, raising his voice at Durga for the first time.
"You're my prisoner, Godsdamnit! Now start acting like one before we're both ousted."
Durga opened her mouth to retort, then closed it with a huff. Indeed, she had perhaps...forgotten she was his prisoner, by the casual way he treated her. But she WAS a prisoner, and she WAS at his mercy.
She rounded her shoulders into a hunch. "Fine," she grumped, crossing her arms before giving him a surly look. "What's your name, anyway?"
Motark let out a slow breath, visibly calming himself.
"Motark Bloodspear."
"Durga," she said, and held her hand out to him. "That's my name, I mean."
Motark nodded, and he gave her hand a shake to acknowledge her effort.
"No second name?"
"Nope," Durga said as she drew her hand away. "Just plain old Durga. Don't need a second name. My first name's strong enough."
Motark stood up off his seat, and sat cross-legged in front of Durga, so he could talk to her easier.
"I admire your confidence."
Durga tensed, briefly, when Motark stood, but when he only sat down in front of her, she relaxed again. She still didn't trust him. That much was clear in the way she regarded him, eyes slightly narrowed. He was a threat, she was a captive, and this could all go tits up in a flash. She'd heard the stories about what orcs did to captives, and the thought made her stomach twist anew.
"So," she finally said, leaning her cheek on her hand, "how do prisoners act?"
"I'm not quite sure. In order to keep appearances, I... I haven't really taken any."
Motark winced, knowing how bad that sounded. It was the truth, though.
"I guess I can mock you up as my slave. It'd be easier than just keeping you locked up somewhere."
In other words, he'd killed them all.
Durga's stomach gave another little twist. What made her special, then, she wanted to ask. But she didn't get the chance, because that was when he brought up his plan.
She physically recoiled. "Your slave? What the fuck?"
"I'm just thinking out loud here!" Motark said, a hint of anger entering his voice.
Just then, wind and fluttering could be heard outside. Motark got up onto his feet, and looked down at her.
"Look dejected. Someone's coming in."
It wasn't difficult to play dejected, because damned if she didn't feel it. Durga rounded her shoulders and lowered her head, eyes downcast, and fell silent. Of course, dejected or not, deep down inside she was just pissed. Pissed to have gotten caught and now pissed that she was probably going to have to pretend to be a slave, and pissed that she couldn't just leave and get on with her life because of stupid rivalries she wasn't even involved in!
Gods! She couldn't go anywhere without someone getting pissed off by her mere existence!
The flap to Motark's bedroom flipped open, and a robed figure stepped in. The robes were stitched with talismans and writings, and the figure pulled its hood back to reveal a rather attractive hobgoblin woman, its grey skin setting it apart from the countless greenskins that no doubt inhabited this camp.
"Nevermind, it's alright," Motark said to Durga, and the hobgoblin stepped closer.
"my chief," it said in its voice, and it bowed.
"Is she hurt?"
Motark shrugged, and looked to Durga.
...What the fuck was that thing? That was no orc, that was for certain.
Durga stared at the woman, but relaxed when told it was okay. What? Was she in on this or something? Whatever this was? This charade where she was a prisoner who wasn't really a prisoner? Sweet fucking dickweeds, she was so damned confused right now, and she knew it couldn't all be because of her head.
She waved a hand. "I'm fine. Head fucking hurts, but I'm more fucking confused than anything. The hell's going on?"
The hobgoblin woman smirked, and cautiously moved to kneel by Durga so she could inspect her head.
"I don't blame you for your confusion," she said, eyes shimmering with magic as she used sight beyond her eyes to survey Durga's condition. She shot Motark a glance, and he cleared his throat.
"I know that this is shitty to you," he started.
"And had it just been me out there when we met, I would've let you go. Hells, we might have even had a conversation," he said, and he gave Durga a sympathetic smile. The hobgoblin woman held her hands a few inches from Durga's temples and her pain would start to fade away. After that, the hobgoblin stood up, looking to Motark.
"I know it's very difficult to trust me right now, but I will do my best to--"
Motark cut off when the sound of a deep, droning horn reached the tent, and immediately looked to the hobgoblin, whose eyes were similarly wide.
"Is it--"
Motark held a hand up, and she went quiet. Again, the same horn in the distance.